The Familiar Taste of Poison
by daydayrivers
Summary: Santana's tired of playing the mean girl. When a troubled new girl joins Glee, Santana finds an opportunity to open up.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: **Language**  
Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the title The Familiar Taste of Poison.

* * *

'Is this me?' The words echoed through her head, over and over again.

Santana stood in front of her vanity mirror, staring at the girl who she no longer felt she knew. The classic red and white Cheerio's uniform, the long black hair pulled tightly up into a ponytail, the dark, unforgiving eyes, the nearly permanent scowl. Who was this girl? The answer seemed obvious. She was Santana Fucking Lopez—captain of the Cheerios, most popular girl in all of William McKinley High, and most certainly head bitch. At least, this was the girl that everyone else saw—the Santana everyone thought they knew.

It had taken nearly three years and a pregnant Quinn to accomplish, but she had done it. It started out as one full year of working her ass off as an entry-level freshman Cheerio. By sophomore year, along with Quinn, the newly appointed captain, she had risen to become one of Sue's best cheerleaders and evil minion, and with her sudden status-quo leap, she made her way to the top of the McKinley High food chain.

As much as she hated to admit it, Quinn's pregnancy was the icing on the cake. Had she not gotten knocked up, Santana would have never been made head Cheerio and taken her rightful place as the most popular girl in school. What bothered her most about this was the fact that she truly felt bad for Quinn. Quinn Fabray had literally gone through Hell and back: losing valuable friendships, her parents' relationship, and her place on top the school's social ladder, not to mention having to pop a damn baby out along the way. But Santana, with her bad-ass, take-no-prisoner's attitude was not allowed to feel this way. Instead, she was forced to ridicule the blonde the same way she would any other low-life gleek.

It was this sort of thing that Santana now hated about herself. As she looked in the mirror, all she could see was the cold, ruthless, bitch that she had slowly become. Truth was, she wanted out. Not necessarily out of the popularity, that she didn't mind (especially after seeing the way other kids were treated). Instead, she wanted to be able to express her real feelings without having to cover them up all the time. She wanted people to not be scared of her. She just wanted to be herself—the old Santana. The _real_ Santana.

Sighing, she fixed her hair and took one last look at her predictable image. Then, grabbing her Cheerio's backpack, she left for school.

School was the same old, same old. She met up with Brittany at their adjoining lockers before first period.

"Hey, B." She greeted.

"San!" Brittany rushed over and threw her arms around her. "I missed you so much!"

Santana apprehensively hugged her back, slightly confused.

"It hasn't even been 24 hours..." She gave Brittany a puzzled look as they both pulled away from the embrace.

"I know." Brittany replied. "But I still missed you."

"Thanks, B." She rolled her eyes playfully and began to grab her books for the first two classes.

Brittany was the one light in Santana's life. Sure, she had the intelligence of a doorknob, but she was always unbiased and honest. She never once judged Santana and saw right through the tough-girl act. Around Brittany, everything was just so easy. When it was just the two of them, Santana could let down her guard and just be herself. Sweet, sensitive, unfiltered Santana. They were 'best friends forever!' as Brittany would always say.

Santana shoved her books in her backpack and shut her locker. She played with the hem of her uniform's skirt as she leaned against the locker, waiting for Brittany to finish getting her things. Once Brittany had shut her locker, Santana extended a pinky, which Brittany happily wrapped in her own. Pinky-in-pinky, they walked to class.

Between classes, the Latina walked with her head held high, her eyes dark and uninviting. When she wasn't scowling, her face was expressionless. Nobody would look at her—they were too afraid to. Even most of the Cheerios were terrified of her. Honestly, Santana could blame them. She'd be afraid too. She was the all-powerful, all-mighty Santana Lopez. She had complete control over the entire student population. If someone was going to get slushied, she gave the order; if someone stepped out of place, she would put them right back where they belonged. She had the whole Cheerios squad wrapped around her finger, aside from Sue, of course. Nobody messed with her, simply out of fear of the hell they would get back.

She knew she had no choice but to keep up the act. If she let up, she would be thrown off the top of the totem pole. She would lose everything.

The entire day was pretty much a blur. She mindlessly sat through classes, ignoring the teachers and texting aimlessly. When she had class with Brittany, the two spent the period passing notes and whispering to one another. She spent lunch at the Cheerio's table, sipping disdainfully at her Sue's Master Cleanse and gossiping loudly with the other girls. By the time Glee rolled around, Santana was slightly irritable and ready to go home, despite the inevitable three hour Cheerio's practice that was fast-approaching.

She walked into the choir room with Brittany at her side and they took their usual places at the back of the room. It seemed that everyone but Tina and Artie had arrived and they all greeted the two cheerios as they sat down. Brittany waived back excitedly, a huge grin on her face. Santana forced a smile that quickly vanished.

Santana actually really liked the kids in Glee. They were almost always friendly and were accepting of Santana's bad attitude, which, oddly, wasn't usually so bad in Glee. Although she wasn't willing to let down her guard the way she did with Brittany, she was still comfortable enough to relax and let up a bit. Not to mention she loved to sing and dance. It was her escape. When she was singing, she was allowed to be someone different. Inside, she knew that that person was the real Santana.

They all chatted quietly amongst themselves, aside from Rachel, who was warming up her vocal chords somewhat obnoxiously, when Mr. Shue walked in from the office in the choir room. Behind him was a cute blonde girl who Santana had never seen before. The girl was obviously shorter than Santana, her skin and hair naturally pale. She was skinny too, her cheekbones prominent and slightly square. Her eyes were a striking blue and a small smile was spread across her face. She bore an odd resemblance to Kristin Bell, Santana couldn't help but think.

"Guys," Mr. Shue started. The room quieted down.

"As Glee Club's reputation grows, so will our member base. Today, I'd like to introduce you to the newest member of New Directions."

There was silence.

"This is Elle."

* * *

**A/N: **Please be gentle. This is my first FF. It is also my first attempt at 3rd person since I normally write in 1st. I have a tendency to not finish things, but I'm going to do my best with this as this fic has been plaguing my mind lately and I've got most chapters planned out already. Sorry about the lack of dialogue or anything actually happening. I just felt I needed to explain some stuff and get it out of the way.  
**A/N/N: **I am also assuming that Quinn has not rejoined the Cheerios after having her baby.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning:** Language  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee and all other copyrighted content belongs to their rightful respective owners.

* * *

"This is Elle."

"Hey," she softly said, smiling.

"Elle's a freshman and just moved to Lima a week ago."

"Shame..." Santana heard Kurt mutter under his breath.

"Not that I need to ask, but I'd like it if you could all make her feel comfortable and at home."

Santana glanced around the room, taking in the expressions of her fellow Glee clubbers. Kurt and Mercedes seemed mildly uninterested as they slumped back in their seats. Puck had some sly look on his face. 'Oh boy.' Santana thought, rolling her eyes. Matt, Mike, Quinn, and Finn all had blank stares on their faces, and Artie and Tina seemed more interested in each other than what was actually going on. The only two that actually seemed interested were Brittany and Rachel. Brittany had a big dorky grin on her face and Rachel looked like she was about to launch herself off her chair.

Santana didn't quite know how she felt about adding a new member. Over the last year the club had become like a family. The idea of letting an intruder in was kind of alarming. She was certainly not going to let anyone ruin what they had going. 'Hopefully she'll fit in and not fuck it up.' She thought to herself.

"She's so cute!" Brittany whispered into her ear. "I love freshman!"

"Hmph." Santana nodded, eying the new girl the entire time.

"Go ahead and take a seat, Elle." Mr. Shue said warmly.

The new girl took a step towards the rest of club, surprisingly not looking a bit nervous or apprehensive.

"On second thought, Elle—last week the students had an assignment to perform a number that explained something about them that no one else knew." He stepped aside to address both Elle and the rest of the club.

Santana watched her as she perked up at the coming suggestion.

"I'd love it if you could perform something for us. Because we don't know anything about you yet, it could be pretty broad. You know, what you're like, what you like to do, your favorite something or another. Whatever you want to do." He paused. "That is, assuming your comfortable and all. You don't mind do you?"

"No, I don't mind. I'd love to sing for you." She laughed innocently.

"Okay, great!" Mr. Shue announced. He stepped to the side of the room over by the piano to give her the floor.

By now everyone was paying close attention and all eyes were on the freshman. She made her way over to the band and whispered something inaudible. Making her way back to the center of the room so that she was addressing the entire club, she took a deep breath. Then, she nodded over at the band who began to play an upbeat pop tune.

**Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na,**

**Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na,**

**I guess I just lost my husband,**

**I don't know where he went,**

**So I'm gonna drink my money,**

**I'm not gonna pay his rent,**

**I gotta a brand new attitude and**

**I'm gonna wear it tonight,**

**I wanna get in trouble,**

**I wanna start a fight.**

**Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, I wanna start a fight,**

**Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, I wanna start a fight!**

Santana was surprised by her strong voice. It had a slight rasp to it that gave her a poppish hard rock sound. She watched the girl who was obviously enjoying herself as she began to dance.

**So, so what?**

**I'm still a rock star,**

**I got my rock moves,**

**And I don't need you,**

**And guess what,**

**I'm having more fun,**

**And now that we're done,**

**I'm gonna show you tonight,**

**I'm alright,**

**I'm just fine,**

**And your a tool,**

**So, so what,**

**I am a rock star,**

**I got my rock moves,**

**And I don't want you tonight.**

Brittany's head moved to the beat of the music and she tapped her feet rhythmically. Elle finished dancing around and returned to the center of the room. It was clear that she was quite comfortable performing in front of a group of people.

**The waiter just took my table,**

**And gave it to Jessica Simps (shit!),**

**I guess I'll go sit with drum boy,**

**At least he'll know how to hit,**

**What if this song's on the radio,**

**then somebody's gonna die,**

**I'm gonna get in trouble,**

**My ex will start a fight.**

She pumped her fist enthusiastically.

**Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, he's gonna start a fight,**

**Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, we're all gonna get in a fight!**

And the dancing commenced.

**So, so what?**

**I'm still a rock star,**

**I got my rock moves,**

**And I don't need you,**

**And guess what,**

**I'm having more fun,**

**And now that we're done,**

**I'm gonna show you tonight,**

**I'm alright,**

**I'm just fine,**

**And your a tool,**

**So, so what,**

**I am a rock star,**

**I got my rock moves,**

**And I don't want you tonight.**

"I don't get it—is she actually a rock star?" Brittany whispered to Santana who ignored the question.

This time, Elle continued to dance, but changed her ambiance as the music and her voice softened.

**You weren't there,**

**You never were,**

**You want it all,**

**But that's not fair,**

**I gave you life,**

**I gave my all,**

**You weren't there,**

**You let me fall.**

On the last note she let her powerful voice rip through the choir room, giving Santana chills.

**So, so what?**

**I'm still a rock star,**

**I got my rock moves,**

**And I don't need you,**

**And guess what,**

**I'm having more fun,**

**And now that we're done,**

**I'm gonna show you tonight,**

**I'm alright,**

**I'm just fine,**

**And your a tool,**

**So, so what,**

**I am a rock star,**

**I got my rock moves,**

**And I don't want you tonight.**

Matt, Mike, and Finn began to clap to the beat.

**No, no, no, no**

**I don't want you tonight!**

**You weren't there,**

**I'm gonna show you tonight,**

**I'm alright,**

**I'm just fine,**

**And your a tool,**

**So, so what,**

**I am a rock star,**

**I got my rock moves,**

**And I don't want you tonight!**

**Ba, da, de, da, duh, da.  
**

Elle stood posed in the middle of the room with her arms crossed against her chest, leaning back with all her weight on one leg and her head tilted back. A sly smile that suited the attitude of the song perfectly was drawn across the face. Her eyes subtly raked the group of teens sitting in front of her as she searched for approval and tried to read their expressions.

Then, as if right on cue, the entire New Directions stood up and applauded, whooping and hooting in excitement. They cheered her on and she did a little curtsy. Santana stood too and applauded appropriately. She smiled, excited to have a new member who could actually sing well.

"That was so fun!" Brittany said jumping up and down.

"San, can we do that?" She asked as she grabbed Santana's arm while still bouncing excitedly.

"Sure, B." Santana answered, not wanting to disappoint her best friend, but all the while knowing it would never actually happen.

Mr. Schue returned to the center of the room with his hands over his head and his mouth agape. He high-fived Elle who was giggling from the warm applause she had received.

"Wow, that was awesome!" He said, shock and excitement ringing in his voice.

"Thanks," Elle said bashfully. "I mean, I wasn't really expecting to have to do a solo, so it wasn't that great of a vocal on my behalf—"

"No, it was great! And with that said, welcome to New Directions!" He smiled and ran his hand through his curly hair. He turned to face the rest of the kids.

"Go ahead and take five, everyone. Maybe use the time to introduce yourselves? Then we'll get to work on this week's assignment." He exited the room through the door to his office.

Rachel leapt off her chair and practically sprinted towards Elle. With her mouth running on over-drive she introduced herself and began to bombard the blonde with her life story. Santana got up off her chair and stretched her arms and legs. She watched as a couple other people made their way over to Elle who looked like she was moderately confused as Rachel ran her motor mouth. Santana watched them curiously.

Artie rolled up to the freshman and offered his hand to Elle. She looked relieved to have escaped Rachel's recount of her life as Artie interrupted.

"Hi, I'm Artie."

Rachel looked slightly offended.

"Elle, obviously." She shook his hand.

"It's nice to meet you." Artie smiled. "Welcome to McKinley."

"Thanks. So, what grades are you all in?" She asked.

"We're all juniors, well, except for Puck. No one's quite sure how much of a super senior he is, but it's not worth it to ask." He said, nodding over in Puck's direction.

She eyed Puck up and down, a small smile escaping her lips as she checked him out.

"That was a sweet performance," he said. "You might give Rachel a run for her money for female lead." He laughed as he addressed Rachel who was still standing there scowling and crossing her arms.

"Well, as impressive of a performance as it was, especially being so improptu and all," Rachel went on to say defensively, "Elle, here, obviously lacks my experience and years of classical training."

"Hm?" Elle responded, raising an eyebrow. She didn't look nearly as offended as Santana would have expected.

"Not only that—no offence," she said touching Elle's arm. "But her slightly raspy voice makes her less than ideal for most songs. It actually puts her at a disadvantage since many musical stylings do not call for anything other than a classical euphonious vocal. I mean, it's great for pop or rock," she continued, referring to the previous performance, "but it's not very versatile. My voice is still best suited for taking on the role of lead female vocalist of William McKinley High Glee Club."

"Oh, I see." She briefly looked slightly offended, but the look vanished and she smiled again.

"I'd much rather sing background, anyway. I've never been one to want to sing lead. Too much responsibility." She chuckled.

Artie interrupted again feeling the tension between the two and Santana stopped listening.

She turned towards Brittany and began to complain about Cheerios practice. Brittany absentmindedly agreed with her, not really paying attention.

"So how many extra laps are we going to have to do today?" Santana asked.

There was no answer.

"Uh, Brittany! Are you listening?"  
Brittany jumped up and grabbed Santana's hand.

"C'mon, S!"

"What the hell, B?"

Brittany dragged her down into the center of the room where they approached Elle who was talking, well, more like flirting, with Puck. Santana stopped in front of them hastily, her hand still trapped in Brittany's.  
"Hey!" Brittany said. "I'm Brittany." She smiled sweetly at Elle and then looked over at Santana who didn't say anything.

"Hi. Elle." She replied.

When Santana still didn't say anything Brittany elbowed her in the ribs. She shot an angry look at her best friend then extended a hand.

"Santana."

"Like the guitarist?"

"Yeah." She rolled her eyes and Elle shook her hand.

"So tell me. I literally just moved here a week ago and it seems really boring. Is there anything to actually do here?"

Santana stifled a laugh.

"Listen, you're in Lima, Ohio. This town's about as exciting as it sounds."

"But it's not..." Brittany turned to Santana with a confused look on her face. Santana just ignored her.

"Let me reiterate that for 'ya. You're in _Lima—_" she paused, "_Ohio."_

"Okay, I get the point. So what do you kids do for fun around here? Is there a mall or something?"

"A mall and a movie theater. That's about it for fun. And there's only so many times you can go to the mall before it gets boring."

"Are there parties, then?" She seemed much more interested in the topic.

"Do we party?" Santana was surprised by the question.

"Yeah. Are there any good parties?"

"Ha, all the time. That's about all we do for fun."

"Who's we?"

"Anyone cool enough to party with us." Brittany added.

"In fact," Puck added, "There's one this weekend at one of the football player's house."

"Really? Who's going to be there?" Elle inquired.

"Hell if I know. Anyone who's anyone, I guess. I know most of the football team is and I think the Cheerios are going. Are you going, Santana?"

"Mm, probably." She shrugged.

"You should go." Puck suggested, addressing Elle with a seductive smile.

"Yeah, sounds like fun." She smiled slyly. "I love a good party."

After Cheerios practice Santana was thoroughly exhausted, but that didn't stop her from spending a little time with her best friend. She drove straight from practice to Brittany's house. Once there, she borrowed a t-shirt and pair of shorts from her friend's wardrobe, feeling relieved to finally get out of her uniform. Together, they sat on Brittany's bed eating top ramen, listening to music, and looking at magazines.

Santana set down her bowl on a nightstand and closed the magazine she was only partially looking at. She sat cross-legged on the bed and looked over at Brittany who was lying on her stomach, engulfed by a fashion magazine.

"B..." She nearly whispered the word.

"Hmmm?" Brittany didn't look up from the magazine.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did." She laughed at her own joke.

Santana was quiet.

"Sorry." Brittany suppressed her giggles and looked up. "What's up?"

Santana paused, not sure how to phrase what she wanted to ask.

"Do you...do you like me?" She immediately regretted asking. It sounded stupid. She stared at Brittany's expressionless face and mindlessly played with her fingers in her lap.

"Of course, San. You're my best friend. Best friend's like each other." She cocked her head to side and offered a smile.

"No, that's not what I mean." Santana looked down at her crossed legs.

"I guess I mean to say, do you like who I am?"

Brittany obviously didn't understand the question because a confused look took over her face.

Santana sighed, now knowing how to communicate with her best friend.

"I'm—" She was cut off.

"You're so nice."

Santana's mouth hung open and her eyes got wide.

"What?"

"You're nice. I'm not very smart, and I know it, but you don't care. You're always there to back me up when I say something stupid and you've never made fun of me. You're just a nice person." Brittany's voice was full of sincere honesty and it broke Santana's heart just to listen to.

"But I'm such a bitch, though." She shook her head. "You see how I am. I throw slushies at people and call them names and make life hell for the entire student population. How could you ever want to be friends with someone like me? How can you stand me?" Santana was now fighting back tears.

"San, I may be dumb and I may not understand much, but I do know that that's not the real Santana." She took Santana's hand and held it in her lap.

"The real Santana is sweet, and kind, and caring, and smart, and helps me with math because it's super hard, and tells me she's proud of me when I do things by myself, and doesn't judge me because I'm not smart. That's the Santana I know and love. I could care less about the other one."

Santana couldn't control herself any longer and a tear slowly slid down her cheek. She had never expected anything so incredibly heartfelt and sincere to come from her best friend. Just knowing that _someone_ could see beyond her act and appreciate her despite it was unbelievably satisfying. For that someone to be her _best friend _was all the more amazingly gratifying.

She couldn't help but reach over and wrap her arms around the tall blonde. She rested her head against her shoulder as Brittany eagerly placed her arms around the Latina. Santana quietly cried against her friend as Brittany rubbed her back and attempted to soothe her.

"I just don't want to be that person anymore." She whispered.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed. Please R/R if possible. It may be a few days before the next update. And thumbs up for Brittana friendship, which, alas, this fic is not about.

Oh, and a big thank you to those who have favorited, reviewed, and added to their alerts. I really expected no one to read this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: **Language, Mild Adult Themes  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee. All other copyrighted materials belong to their respective and rightful owners.

* * *

By the weekend Santana was ready for a break. Sue had been in a bad mood all week so Cheerios practice had been especially agonizing and her homework and stress level had nearly tripled since starting junior year. On top of all that, her internal struggle with her image was constantly on her mind and causing her plenty of grief. By Friday she was ready to let lose and relax a little. The idea of Karofsky's upcoming party was beginning to sound much more appealing and she was actually a little excited.

Santana had originally only planned on going if Brittany was going to go. But the Wednesday before the party Brittany found out that she would be spending the weekend in Columbus visiting her grandparents and therefore couldn't make it. After hearing that, Santana wasn't going to go. But as the days inched closer to Friday and she continually grew more and more stressed, she realized that a party was exactly what she needed to relax and unwind.

Weekends were like a godsend. She could relax, sleep in, and stay up as late as she wanted. Regardless if she had homework or not, she was on the 'no-weekend-homework' policy, (thanks to Puck.) And it was surprising to her how much she enjoyed wearing actual clothing since she nearly lived in her uniform during school.

Saturday evening she turned in to Karofsky's neighborhood, looking for his place. His house was a corner lot, the biggest in the entire gated community. Santana had heard that his dad, (his parents were divorced) was an international lawyer and away on business in some foreign country and wouldn't be back for a few days. It was the perfect, most cliché opportunity for a party. As she drove, she finally saw his house. Cars filled the driveway and front yard and even lined the sidewalks along the street. 'Damn', she thought to herself. 'This is going to be one hell of a party.'

She found a place to park and killed the engine. With the car radio off, she could hear music coming from inside the house. She checked to see if anything valuable was in sight, knowing that plenty of kids had their cars broken into at parties, and then exited the car and headed for the door.

Opening the door and stepping inside, the volume of the music increased nearly tenfold. The house was packed with kids, some of which were dancing, others socializing and hanging out and having a good time. Santana closed the door behind her and surveyed the house. As she stood there, a voice calling her name caught her attention.

"Santana!" She turned around to find Puck with a beer in hand.

"Hey!" She yelled over the music. "What's going on?"

"Eh, nothing. I got here an hour or so ago. It's pretty chill. Do you want a beer?"

"Yeah, sure."

He led her into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle.

"Thanks," she said, taking it. It was much quieter in the kitchen.

"You just get here?"

"Mhm." She replied, prying open the cap with the bottle opener that was on the counter next to her.

"Why isn't Brittany with you?"

"She's in Columbus visiting her grandparents."

"It's weird to see you without her. You two are practically joined at the hip." He leaned back against the counter and sipped casually at his drink.

"I know. To tell you the truth, I wasn't planning on coming after she told me, but I really needed to get out of the house. And I _really_ needed a beer." She laughed. "Anyone else from Glee here?"

"Mike and Matt, but only because they're on the team. And Finn was a little bitch and said he was too sick to come."

Santana nodded as she took a sip of her beer.

"I saw Quinn earlier. I think she was with some of the Cheerios." This caught her by surprise. She raised and eyebrow and took another sip.

"Oh, and that new freshman chick."

"Elle?"

"Yeah, her."

"Speaking of Elle, what was with you flirting with her the other day?" A tinge of jealousy could be heard in her voice.

"Eh, I don't know. She's kind of hot. For a freshman."

"I thought you were only into older women, now?" Santana sneered. Inside she knew that she wasn't entirely over Puck.

"It's male instinct. I can't help myself." He shrugged his shoulders and drank from his beer. "Anyway, freshman are the easiest to get inside their pants."

Santana snorted and nearly choked on her beer.

"Hey, Puck!" They turned to find Azimio standing in the kitchen entryway. "Come check this out!" He motioned toward him.

Puck looked at Santana.

"Is it okay if I...?"

"No, go ahead. I'll go find Quinn or something."

"K," he touched her lightly on the arm and then walked out of the kitchen.

She stood in the kitchen for an extra minute or two, waiting and secretly hoping that Puck would come back. When he didn't, she found herself exploring the house, stopping occasionally to dance with some of her fellow Cheerios. While she was dancing she spotted Quinn up on the catwalk. She left the group of dancers and climbed the stairs. Quinn was alone and leaning against the rail of the catwalk that overlooked the connected living room and foyer, watching the party.

"What's up, Q?" Santana said, leaning against the rail next to her.

Quinn didn't even look at her.

"I'm surprised to see you here." She tried again.

"Yeah, why?" Quinn finally responded.

"You don't seem like much of the party type, anymore."

"Quinn shrugged her shoulders and continued to look down at the people below her.

"No drink?" Santana asked, noticing her friend's empty hands.

"I don't drink anymore." She laughed quietly and shook her head.  
"Last time I got drunk I wound up pregnant. I think I'm done for now."

"Eh, suit yourself." Santana replied, taking a sip from her own beer.

Neither of them said a word for a few minutes. Both just quietly observed the party, keeping their thoughts to themselves.

Breaking the silence, Santana finally said, "Puck said you were with some of the Cheerios earlier."

"Yeah, some of them are still nice to me. Why?"

"I just thought it was strange. I didn't know you still talked to them."

"I don't really. I was by myself and they probably just felt sorry for me."

It hurt Santana to hear Quinn say this. She still hoped they could be friends. She missed the days where they would hang out, cheer, and shop together. But more than that she missed having another friend. But because of her goddamn attitude she had to go and be a bitch to Quinn once she was pregnant and off the Cheerios. More than anything she just wanted her friend back. It was her stubborn bitchy ego, that faux persona, that stopped her from trying to rekindle their friendship; the fear of what others would think of her eating away at her conscience.

Neither of the two spoke again for an undeterminable amount of time.

Eventually, Santana spoke.  
"Q, do you miss being a Cheerio?"

Quinn paused, not expecting the question.

"Yeah, I guess." She finally said. "I miss cheering, but not so much as I miss everyone wanting to be my friend. I was popular, liked, looked up to. Everyone wanted to be me, but they couldn't. So they just wanted to be my friends". The people that didn't, hated me—but only out of jealousy. I miss that." She hung her head.

"Miss what?"

"Being hated out jealousy. Now, I'm just hated."

Santana couldn't think of anything to say. She wanted to hug the blonde and tell her that everything was going to be alright. But she didn't.

Quinn looked looked down at her phone.

"It's getting late. I'm going to get going."

"Are you still living with Mercedes?"

"No, my mom offered to make amends. So I'm back with her giving it another try."

"How do you feel about that?"

"It's one less person who hates me."

And with that, she walked away.

After the conversation with Quinn, Santana was feeling rightfully depressed. She checked her phone for the time, acknowledging that she had spent the last hour with Quinn. Heading back downstairs, she passed by a few football players and Cheerios who wanted to dance with her, but no longer feeling in the party-mood, she quickly declined.

She returned to the kitchen and dropped off her empty beer and grabbed a new one out of the fridge. Walking into the massive great room, she was surprised to find it empty except for Elle who was sitting next to a bunch of guys. They were sitting on a couch next to what looked like the kitchen table, which had been moved over in front of the fireplace. On the table was an expensive looking karaoke machine. She didn't even want to think of why Karofsky owned one. She returned to her attention back to Elle. The blonde's face was flushed, her cheeks red. Santana watched as she repetitively touched the guy closest to her as she talked and laughed boisterously. 'Lightweight.' Santana couldn't help but think as she stood by the entry connecting the great room and living room. She thought back to when she was a freshman. Her first party with alcohol had been at the end of the school year. She remembered trying beer for the first time and being absolutely hammered after only half a bottle. The details of the party were sketchy after that. All she remembered was waking up in her bed the morning after feeling like hell and wanting to die.

She was awoken from her reminiscing when she noticed Elle get off the couch and approach the large dining table. The boys she had been sitting with cheered and clapped as she climbed up on top the table. Santana watched her grab the mic and couldn't help but think, 'Oh God.'

"This is for all my ex's." She slurred into the mic. The boys busted out in laughter and Santana began to wonder if they were cheering her on or egging her on.

At first a quiet bass line played but then the song busted out into a hard rock melody of guitars and drums. Santana watched and listened as Elle's powerful voice began to croon passionately into the mic.

**I need you,**

**Here with me,**

**Don't take this,**

**Too far now .**

**Your eyes seem,**

**So lonely,**

**Inside you,**

**Feel like you've lost your mind .**

All of a sudden she jumped up and began to flail spastically as she yelled the chorus.

**Could have been the champagne, the champagne ,**

**Could have been the cocaine, the cocaine,**

**Could have been the way you looked at me ,**

**That told me we were through.**

**Could have been a bad day, a bad day ,**

**Could have been the real way, the real way,**

**Could have been the way you looked at me,**

**That told me we were through.**

**Through!**

The song mellowed out again and Elle began to walk along the table as she sang. A few times she came within inches of the end of the table, but didn't seem to take much notice.

**And I miss you,**

**All day now,**

**I'm screaming,**

**Inside out ,**

**Don't tempt me,**

**'Cause I'll break you,**

**I don't need this,**

**And I'll burn this whole thing down .**

Santana laughed as she began to headbang.

**Could have been the champagne, the champagne ,**

**Could have been the cocaine, the cocaine ,**

**Could have been the way you looked at me,**

**That told me we were through.**

**Could have been a bad day, a bad day ,**

**Could have been the real way, the real way ,**

**Could have been the way you looked at me ,**

**That told me we were through.**

**Through!**

**We were through!**

She twirled around on the table nearly tripping over her own feet and getting caught in the microphone cord.

**I wish you,**

**Would take from me,**

**Everything I cannot be,**

**With eyes so blind,**

**You cannot see,**

**That I won't ever leave .**

Santana watched the guys as they laughed hysterically. One even had his phone out and was taking a video of the drunken performance.

**Well...**

**Could have been the champagne, the champagne ,**

**Could have been the cocaine, the cocaine ,**

**Could have been the way you looked at me ,**

**That told me we were through .**

**Could have been a bad day, a bad day ,**

**Could have been the real way, the real way,**

**Could have been the way you looked at me,**

**That told me we were through !**

**Through!**

**We were through!**

**And now we're through.**

The music cut off and she gazed wide-eyed around the room. The boys that had been watching stood up off the couch and clapped sarcastically. "Encore!" One even yelled. Elle threw her arms out to her sides and spun in a circle on the table. Then, she leaned over and bowed. However, being drunk, her sense of balance was a little off. Leaning over too far, she lost her balance and tumbled off the table, smacking her knee against the end of it and hitting the floor with a thud. She just lye there as the boys scurried out of the room, all the while laughing uncontrollably.

When she still didn't get up, Santana sighed loudly and walked over to the blonde heap on the floor. She leaned over the smaller girl who was preoccupied with staring at the wall.

"Elle?" Santana asked.

Elle looked up at the older girl through squinted eyes.

"Hey, Santana."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. It hurt, though."

"Uh-huh." Santana replied, rolling her eyes. "Here." She offered her hand to the blonde.

The freshman took her hand and Santana helped pull her to her feet. She went to walk away but nearly ran into the wall instead. Santana grabbed her by the back of the shirt and pulled her away from the wall just in time. She dragged her into the kitchen, happy to get away from the noise of the rest of the party.

"What the hell are you doing?" She asked angrily.

"I was goin' to get," she paused, "another beer."

"You were going the wrong way."

"Was I? Huh." She laughed.

"How many beers have you had?" Santana inquired.

"Fuck if I know. Maybe five or six. And a shot too."

The Latina was taken aback. Six? It was amazing the girl was still on her feet.

"Do you normally drink this much?"

"Yeah. Sometimes." She slurred her words.

"How often?"

"I dunno. At parties. Weekends. Whenever I feel like it." She scratched her head.

'What the fuck? The kid's practically an alcoholic.' She thought to herself.

"Well, how do you feel?" She asked.

"My head hurts. D'ya know what time it...is?"

Santana pulled her phone out of her pocket and read the screen.

"11:30".

"Mm. Thanks, Santana. I'm gonna go dance, now."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I feel fi—"

Suddenly grasping at her stomach she leaned over and threw up all over the floor.

"Oh my God." Santana mumbled as she frustratedly rubbed her eyes.

Once she was done puking all over the floor, Elle stumbled over to the nearest wall of cabinets and slid down the front of them clumsily until she was sitting on the floor. Leaning back against the cabinets, she held her head in her palms and groaned.

Normally, Santana could have cared less about other people's misfortune, particularly when it came to getting drunk. If they're were going to drink, they're were going to suffer the consequences. What happened to them was their own damn fault. But something about the poor girl's plight struck a chord with her and she honestly felt bad. She walked over to the girl and crouched down next to her.

"You should go home."

Elle groaned again.

"How'd you get here?"

"A friend. But I don't know where she is." Her words were muddled and slow.

'Shit,' Santana thought, massaging her temples with her fingers. She watched as the blonde closed her eyes and let her mouth hang open as she rubbed her face, trying to maintain consciousness.

"Alright, I'll take you home." She finally said, letting out a sigh.

"Are you...sure?" The younger girl asked.

"Yeah, it's fine. You can text your friend and tell her you got a ride home."

"Thanks." She said.

"Okay, c'mon." Santana stood up and held out her hand. Elle stared at it for a moment then slowly took it. She hoisted her to her feet and put a hand on the younger girl's shoulder to help steady herself as they walked. Nearly reaching the door without interference, Santana groaned as Puck showed up out of nowhere and stood between the two girls and the door. He stared at the pair, a confused look on his face.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"She's wasted as hell and I'm taking her home. Now move." Santana blurted, trying to go around him.

He blocked her path so she stopped and glared up at him.

"What, Puckerman?" The Latina yelled.

Puck narrowed his eyes and scowled.

"Since when are you so nice?" He looked offended as she pushed past him.

"I'm not." She retorted, already halfway out the door.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm sorry if this chapter was really bad. It was extremely tough for me to write which explains why I took so long to get it out. Basically, I had a general outline of what I wanted to happen but had a tough time filling in the blanks. Again, I apologize if this wasn't very good.

Reviews are always helpful and thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning: **Brief Language, Mild Adult Themes  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee. All other copyrighted materials belong to their respective and rightful owners.

* * *

Santana and Elle sat silently in the car as Santana drove. Neither one had uttered a word aside from Elle's "thank you" after Santana helped her into the vehicle. Occasionally Santana would take her eyes off the road to check on the blonde. She was slumped over in her seat, leaning against the car door. Her face was rested securely in the palm of her hand and every few minutes she would let out a sickening groan.

Santana listened to radio as she drove, the music barely audible to save Elle from her growing headache. It was late and the roads were empty, but the junior drove slowly, not wanting to make the girl sitting next to her in the passenger seat feel the least bit nauseous.

She was singing the lyrics to the song that was playing in her head and humming quietly to herself when the voice of the small girl distracted her.

"Santana?"

"Yeah?" She was surprised to hear her speak.

"Would you tell me something?"

"What?" Santana grew anxious as Elle paused.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" She looked over at the Latina.

"What do you mean?" She kept her eyes on the road as she drove.

"You know, I may be new to McKinley, but I'm not stupid. I know that you've got the reputation as the popular bitchy cheerleader."

"How do you know that?" She scoffed, glaring at the girl briefly before putting her eyes back on the road.

Elle didn't respond.

"Fine, whatever. You're right." She grumbled.

"Then why are you being so nice to me?" Her speech was slow, but sincere.

'Because I'm actually a nice person.' She thought.

"I don't know. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, I guess." It was the truth.

"Well, thanks."

"Yeah, sure."

Aside from acting like a drunken slut at the party, Santana found the girl to quite likable. She was sweet, kind, and genuinely grateful. Thinking about it, she instantly felt bad about what the guys made her do. Knowing the jerks they were, Elle's karaoke video would probably be up on Youtube in a matter of hours for all the world to see.

"Can I ask _you_ a question?" Santana said.

"Go ahead." The blonde replied, massaging her head gently.

"What's up with you getting so drunk?"

Elle sighed before responding, "I don't know. It's just something I do."

"What do you mean, _'something you do' _?"

"I don't know. It's what I do when I want to have a good time. It's something I've done for a while."

"A while, as in how long?"

"Since I was in the seventh grade."

"Are you kidding me?" Santana cried, taken aback.

Elle shook her head.

"Damn." Santana said under her breath, but loud enough that Elle still heard it because she began to chuckle softly to herself.

"Wow, does bitchy cheerleader actually have a heart after all?" She laughed again, but suddenly stopped as she clutched her head and groaned.

Santana scowled, but softened her expression as she looked over to see the poor lethargic blonde looking like a wreck.

"Are you okay?" Santana asked quietly.

"Mhm." She mumbled, still clutching her head in her hands. She pulled her knees up onto the seat and rested her head between them.

"Liar." Santana remarked.

A few minutes passed without either girl speaking when Santana pulled up into a driveway and shut off the car.

"Is this it?" She asked.

Elle pulled her head off her knees and looked out the window at the house.

"Uh-huh."

Santana got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side and opened the door.

"Is anyone home?" She asked, staring into the dark windows.

"My dad. He's probably asleep."

"What about your mom?"

"She ran out a few years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Yeah..."

"Did your dad know?"

"About the party?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, yeah. But he doesn't care. He knows I drink."

The Latina was surprised to hear this. Her own parents had no idea that she drank, of course it wasn't nearly to the excess that Elle did. But if they did, they would certainly have her ass. It was hard to imagine any parent tolerating that kind of behavior, especially from someone so young. 'Sounds like a bad parent.' She thought.

"Do you need help?" She nodded in the direction of the house.

"I wouldn't mind it." Elle admitted. "But be quiet. My dad's probably sleeping."

Santana let her take her arm as she guided the stumbling blonde to the front porch. Elle fished around in her pockets until she found her house key and then unlocked the door. Santana silently led her upstairs to her room where she sat her down on the bed. Flicking on the light, she got a better look at the girl.

Her face was pale and her eyes red and squinty. Her normally flawless long blonde hair was messy and tangled and her clothes were stained with vomit. It looked like she hadn't slept in days and she reeked of beer. It was a pretty pathetic sight.

"You're going to be okay, now?" Santana asked her, trying to keep her voice down.

"Yeah." She nodded.

"Okay, get some sleep."

"I will."

Santana turned around to leave. But as she turned, a hand softly grabbed her wrist. She looked over to see Elle's arm extended out toward her.

"And Santana," She said softly, staring into her chocolate eyes, "Thank you."

Santana just nodded before she left the room.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry about the length. I know it was short, but it had to be done! Please R/R if you can. I'd love some feedback, suggestions, or even criticism!


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: **Brief language.  
**Note: **To prevent any confusion, even though it's pretty obvious, thoughts are now written in italics.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee. All other copyrighted content belongs to their respective and rightful owners.

* * *

Over the next month Santana mindlessly and indifferently lived her mundane and seemingly repetitive life. Monday through Friday she dressed in her Cheerios uniform and sat through classes. Everyday Glee rehearsed the same three numbers for Sectionals over and over again. She could do the dances in her sleep and she practically knew every part to every song, but Mr. Schuester would not let up. They had to be perfect. According to him, the worst thing that could happen would be that they underestimate the competition and come ill-prepared. And so every school day they did the same old song and dance (excuse the pun). After Glee, Santana would head to Cheerios practice where she would work her ass off for another few hours. Nearly every other day she would spend time with Brittany after practice and by the time she got home she would be exhausted and generally a little bad-tempered depending on how much homework she had. On weekends, when she wasn't busy with spur of the moment Cheerio practices, she would often spend the days and nights at Brittany's house, which, to her, was like a second home. Every so often she would find a party to go to as well, (which was much more enjoyable when she was with Brittany).

Every party Santana attended that month, so did Elle. She would generally see her a few times throughout the nights and Elle would usually offer her a friendly smile. When Santana would come across her with a drink in hand, she would give the girl a morose look, which Elle would always return in a distraught manner: her mouth twisted, corners turned down into a frown, and eyes full of guilt and shame. Neither of the two could entirely forget what had happened.

Since the night of the party, Santana hadn't really spoken much with Elle. Of course they saw each other in Glee and would generally make small talk during, but because of the social line drawn between the popular junior cheerleader and the less-than-popular freshman, Santana for the most part stayed away. Inside, she was aware of the fact that she wouldn't mind getting to know the girl better. She was kind and friendly and even a bit shy when she wasn't performing. What was oddest about the situation was that Santana had discovered a strange instinct to look out for her. However, she was aware that a friendship between the two would be looked down on and Santana knew she would get the bitter end of it.

One Monday, Santana sat in Glee as the members waited for Mr. Shue to come out of his office. Glee had become slightly annoying to the Latina. It was incredibly boring to practice the same few numbers week in and week out. She missed the fun assignments and randomly breaking out into song and dance—everyone did. They were all starting to grow irritated, and with each and every practice were giving less and less effort. Sure, they all wanted to win. But this was just downright boring.

Mr. Shuester had begun to take notice. His usually cheerful kids were no longer enthusiastic about something he thought they should love. Even Rachel was less than eager for practice. The negative mood in the room had taken it's toll on him as well. His normally optimistic self was replaced with a pessimistic and weary Will.

But that day, Mr. Schue walked into the choir room with a smile on his face. He stood in the center of the room and clapped his hands together.

"Alright, guys. I know that we've been practicing the stuff for Sectionals for a while, and I know that we're all getting a little frustrated. So I thought we'd take a break for a week."

The room was filled with smiles and cheers as the kids began to talk amongst themselves excitedly.

"Alright, settle down, settle down." He said smiling. "Just because we're taking a break doesn't mean you get off the hook so easily! You will all have an assignment for the week."

Santana didn't mind, and it certainly didn't sound like anyone else did either. They were just happy to be able to do something different for once. It would be like old times.

"Lately," he continued, "I've realized how incredibly important it is to always be honest with yourself. So this week, I want you all to choose a song that is true to you. Find something that represents you that you can relate to. Make sure you tell it like it is!"

A quiet buzz swept through the room as the gleeks began to brainstorm and bounce ideas off one another.

"And as always, you will each perform your song as a solo in front of everyone. Everyone will perform on Friday. So get to work and have fun!" He dismissed them to get to work with a wave of his hand.

Santana turned to face Brittany.

"So what song are you going to do?"

"I was thinking maybe Tik Tok by Ke$ha."

"What?" Santana sneered, lowering her eyebrows and dropping her jaw. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Or maybe something by Britney Spears. I love her. What about Gimme More? Then I get to say, 'It's Brittany, bitch!"

Santana sighed and shook her head.

"What are you going to sing, San?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought of anything yet."

"Well, what do you want to sing about?"

"I'm not sure. I don't really have anything to say to myself."

It was a lie, and she knew it. In fact, she knew exactly what she wanted to sing about. She wanted to sing about lying to herself. She wanted to sing about being a fake bitch and changing for the better. It was just a matter of finding the right song and deciding if she would be willing to spill her heart in front of the entire Glee club.

* * *

The rest of the week went by fairly quickly. Everyone in Glee was in a much better mood and the atmosphere was once again positive and inviting. They spent their time researching song choices and practicing their selections. For the most part, Mr. Schue stayed out of their way except for when asked for help with a particular part of a song.

By Friday, Santana was eager to perform, but still a little nervous. It had taken her the longest of all the kids to decide on the song, (aside from Brittany, who just couldn't make up her mind.) She had eventually decided to be truthful and pick a song that mirrored what she was feeling. However, too scared to open herself up completely, she picked a song thats message was broad, allowing it to be interpreted in many different ways.

As she sat through Brittany's performance, she fidgeted nervously. Brittany had decided to sing Boys Boys Boys by Lady Gaga. Santana had tried to convince her to find something a little more meaningful and go deeper, but boys were about as deep as Brittany got. So she let her be and Brittany sang the song enthusiastically and seductively.

Once Brittany was done, she returned to her seat.

"Who's next?" Mr. Shuester asked. The question was pretty pointless. Santana and Elle were the only two who had yet to have gone.

Brittany nudged her gently with her elbow. "Go on, San."

"Fine." She conceded.

"I will, Mr. Schue." She raised her hand and then got up.

"Great, take it away."

She walked over to the center of the room and then sat down on a stool that occupied the middle of the floor. Taking a deep breath, she cued the band, and the piano began to play a slow quiet number.

**As I walk away,**

**I look over my shoulder,**

**To see what I'm leaving behind.**

**Pieces of puzzles,**

**And wishes on eyelashes fade.**

**Oh, how do I show,**

**All the love inside my heart?**

**For this is all new,**

**And I'm feeling my way through the dark.**

**I used to talk,**

**With honest conviction,**

**Of how I predicted my world.**

**I'm gonna leave it to stargazers,**

**Tell me what your telescope says.**

**Oh, what is in store for me now?**

**It's coming apart.**

**I know that it's true,**

**'Cos I'm feeling my way through the dark.**

**Trying to find a light on somewhere,**

**Trying to find a light on somewhere,**

**I'm finding I'm falling**

**In love with the dark over here.**

**Oh, what do I know, I don't care...**

**Where, I start.**

**For my troubles are few,**

**As I'm feeling my way through the dark.**

**Through the dark.**

**I'm feeling my way through the dark.**

As the piano played the outro, she lowered her head and stared at the floor. She had sang it as truthfully and passionately as she knew how, and she wanted everyone to understand that. She wanted them to feel it the way she did. Once the piano stopped, applause swept the room. She looked up and smiled weakly.

"That was beautiful, Santana." Mr. Shuester said. "What an outstanding vocal."

"Thanks." She replied softly, a little embarrassed at how unnaturally sensitive and open she was being.

She made her way back to her seat. Brittany smiled at her warmly as she sat down.

"That was really pretty, San." She said.

"Thanks."

Brittany reached over and put her hand over Santana's.

"And don't worry," she whispered, "Things will get easier."

Brittany may not have been very smart, but somehow she knew exactly what Santana was singing about.

"Alright, Elle. I guess you're up." Mr. Schue announced.

Elle was normally quick to volunteer to perform, much like Rachel. Although she was a shy girl, she was extremely comfortable performing. Something about it made her feel good, warm, optimistic. But today, Elle did not volunteer. Instead, she sunk back in class and tried her best go unnoticed. When Will called her name, she slowly made her way to the front of the room. Her normally eager smile was replaced with an unsure frown, and her body language was unusually negative. She too sat on the stool that Santana had previously occupied. She looked down at her feet, breathing slowly, and trying to steady herself. She closed her eyes and signaled the band to begin.

A quiet guitar began to play.

**Drink the wine,**

**My darling, you said,**

**Take your time,**

**And consume all of it.**

**But the roses,**

**Were only to drain my inspiration.**

**The promises,**

**Were spoiled before they left your lips and...**

Her voice was haunting and low, her words barely above a whisper. It gave Santana chills to listen to.

Elle's voice grew louder as she sang the chorus.

**I breathe you in again,**

**Just to feel you,**

**Underneath my skin,**

**Holding on to,**

**The sweet escape,**

**Is always laced with a,**

**Familiar taste of poison.**

Santana had never heard anyone sing so incredibly passionately. Just the look in Elle's eyes were full of truth and emotion; they seemed to burn straight in to you; the expression on her face, a mix between bitter scorn and emotional anguish. Just watching the blonde made Santana ache. She was literally pouring her heart out as she sang.

**I tell myself,**

**That you're no good for me.**

**I wish you well,**

**But desire never leaves.**

**I could fight this,**

**'til the end,**

**But maybe I don't want to win.**

She repeated the chorus.

**I breathe you in again,**

**Just to feel you,**

**Underneath my skin,**

**Holding on to,**

**The sweet escape,**

**Is always laced with a,**

**Familiar taste of poison.**

The tempo picked up and the music crescendoed as the sounds of violins, more guitars, and drums joined in with the lone guitar and bass.

Elle gritted her teeth and threw her head back as she sang.

**I don't wanna be saved,**

**I don't wanna be sober,**

**I, want you on my mind.**

**In my dreams behind these eyes,**

**And I won't wake up,**

**No, not this time.**

Her voice rang throughout the entire room and she clenched her fists in emotion as she scrunched her eyes shut.

**I breathe you in again,**

**Just to feel you,**

**Underneath my skin,**

**Holding on to,**

**The sweet escape,**

**Is always laced with a,**

**Familiar taste of poison.**

**A familiar taste of poison.**

**A familiar taste of poison.**

The guitar, once again alone, finished playing and Elle sat there quietly as she attempted to catch her breath. Her whole body shook and her breathes came in heavy intervals. She didn't dare look up at the crowd watching her.

_Why did I do that? Why in the hell did I just do that? They can't know..._

She fought to keep the tears that were forming behind her eyes from making an appearance.

_You shouldn't have done that. You should have lied; could have chosen a different song. They're going to ask questions._

The entire New Directions stood up from their chairs and began to applaud and throw out praise. It had been an amazing, heart-wrenching performance. It was obvious that the lyrics had meant something to her, the way she sang them, the way she conveyed the song with her body language. It was an honest vocal, probably the most honest of all.

But Elle barely heard their applause. As soon as everyone stood, Elle jumped off the stool and ran out of the room.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry if you don't like songs in stories, since I threw two at 'ya in this one. But, hey, it's Glee! And I just can't help myself. Anyways, I really recommend you take a listen to The Familiar Taste of Poison by Halestorm. It's a beautifully haunting song and I imagine Elle's voice as almost the exact same as the singer's of the band. So take a listen and hear how it's performed and how emotional it is. The next chapter will probably be a tough one for me to write, so it'll probably be a few days.

Reviews, criticism, and praise are always welcomed! Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning: **Language, Mildly Adult-Themed  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee. All other copyright content belongs to their respective and rightful owners.

* * *

The clapping slowed and faded away as confused faces watched the emotional blonde run out of the room. A quiet murmur spread throughout the choir room as they all stood there confounded.

"Is something wrong with her, S?" Brittany whispered into Santana's ear, adding to the murmur.

"I don't know, B. I don't know." She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.

Mr. Schue emerged from the corner by the piano. His mouth was hanging open and he was scratching his head in bewilderment. He stood in front of the kids and addressed them hesitantly.

"Well, on that note," he shook his head and raised an eyebrow, "I guess we're done here. Well done on the assignment, everyone. You all pretty much hit the nail on the head. Enjoy your weekend and be safe."

He turned away and began to head for his office, but stopped and turned again to face the students who were beginning to make their way for the door.

"Oh, and if anyone sees Elle, tell her that that was one of the best vocals I've ever heard." He turned again and walked through the door to his office.

Santana, a little shaken by the passionate performance, didn't hear Brittany call her name.

"San! Santana."

She felt fingers on her arm, pulling her out of her trance.

"Huh? What?" She looked up at Brittany from her seat.

"C'mon, let's go."

"Oh, okay."

She grabbed her Cheerios backpack and threw it over her shoulders. She instinctively reached for Brittany's pinky, which Brittany, also habitually, took in her own. The pair left the choir room and made their way down the halls of McKinley toward their lockers.

"Fuck, I'm happy that we don't have practice, today." She said, throwing her books into her locker.

Sue was out for the day filming interviews for some cheerleading magazines and broadcasting companies and had put Santana in charge of practice. Santana hadn't really been in the mood for practice so she simply cancelled the practiced instead. She would probably get Coach Sylvester's wrath once she found out, but she didn't really care for the time being. She'd rather do a two-a-day over the weekend to make up for it anyway.

"Me too," Brittany replied. "I'm exhausted." She slammed her locker shut.

The two began the trek back to their cars, (how Brittany ever got her license, Santana did not know) once again linking pinkies.

"You should come over, tonight." Brittany suggested.

"Yeah, sure."

The duo passed the choir room.

"Can you just come over, now?"

"I wish, but I can't. Since my dad doesn't get off work until later tonight, I have to drive my mom home from the car dealership. She has to drop her car off to get serviced."

"Oh..." Brittany's smile melted and her voice trailed off.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, B." Santana squeezed their pinkies. "But I promise I'll come over as soon as I get back."

"Okay..." Brittany gave in, still a little disappointed.

Santana pulled away from Brittany as they passed a bathroom.

"Hey, I'm going to fix my make-up. I'll catch you later."

"Text me?" Brittany asked over her shoulder as she walked away.

"Of course." Santana assured her friend.

She pushed open the door and walked into the bathroom. Setting herself up in front of the middle sink's mirror, she stared at her eyes, evaluating her make-up. She was about to reach into her bag for her mascara when the sound of muffled sniffling made her turn. She had thought the bathroom was empty.

Bending over, she scanned the gaps between the floor and bottom of the doors of the stalls. All were vacant expect the last corner stall—and she recognized the shoes. Her colorful Vans were unmistakable.

She slowly walked towards the locked stall. Stopping just in front of it, her head only inches from the door, she knocked. "Elle..."

The sniffling stopped.

"Elle. Are you alright?"

"I—I'm...fine." She stammered.

"Please come out." Santana begged.

"Why?"

"Just come out," she paused. "Please."

The sound of the lock sliding cued Santana to back away from the door to avoid being hit. She stood there silently, waiting, as the door slowly swung open. Elle stood inside the stall looking a mess. Her face and eyes were red from crying and her make-up was runny and had left dark stains against her now rosy cheeks. She stared at Santana through watery eyes, and sniffled a few times. Then, she pushed past the Latina and slid down against the wall adjacent the sinks and stalls. She lowered her head and held her face in her hands as she cried softly. Santana slowly approached her and slid down the wall next to her.

"What's wrong?"

"Why do you care?" She spat back.

"Elle, I—"

"I don't need to deal with you being a bitch to me right now."

"When was I ever a bitch to—"

"Just go. Please."

Santana just looked at the girl, her head once again buried in her hands.

"Fine. I'm sorry I bothered you."

She got up slowly and made her way towards the door. Pushing the door open, she began to step out.

"No, Santana."

She stopped.

"Santana, I'm sorry. Please, come back." Her words were muffled against her hands.

The Latina looked over her shoulder to see Elle staring up at her through big tearful eyes. The way they pleaded for her to stay was enough to pull Santana back into the bathroom. She went back over to the small girl and sat down next to her, leaning against the wall again. She gently reached over and put her hand on the blonde's thin wrist.

"Let's try this again. What's wrong?" She gently caressed her wrist.

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Alright, fine. Why'd you run out of there?"

"I—I couldn't bring myself to face you guys." She stammered.

"Why not? Your performance was so good, Elle. I mean, it was amazing. It honestly was. Even Mr. Schue said it was one of the best vocals he's ever heard."

"That's the thing," she said through sniffles. "I knew it was. And I was honest."

"So?"

"I was too honest."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I was singing about."

"Drinking?"

She just nodded.

"I—I have a...problem, Santana." Her head fell.

Santana looked at the blonde. Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head to the side, signaling the younger girl to go on. But the blonde couldn't.

More tears began to form in her eyes as she started to lose control. Her sobs were growing louder with each gasp for breath and her body shook.

"I'm so fucked up." She said before beginning to cry uncontrollably.

Santana's heart melted; it was so painful to watch her spill her emotions like that.

_This is more than some bullshit teenage drama. This is serious. You've got to help her._

_But Santana wouldn't do that. She wouldn't care._

She looked at Elle again. She had opened herself up. She could do the same.

_Fuck what that Santana would do. Fuck her. Fuck everything and everyone. Be you._

With her mind made up, she reached over and put her arms around the smaller girl, pulling her against her body. Elle complied, letting herself be pulled against Santana. She cried against her for what felt like ages—she had no idea how long they sat like that. All she knew was that it felt good to finally let it all go, to get rid of the pain, to tell somebody and have them listen.

Neither of the two said anything. Elle just cried and Santana did her best to comfort the girl. It felt good: the way the blonde buried her head into her shoulder, the way she felt like the girl trusted her, the feeling of being needed. Compassion. There was so much baggage to the word—so much good, heavy, baggage. And it was so unselfish. She wasn't doing this for anyone and she certainly wasn't trying to impress anyone. No, she was doing this because it felt good. It felt right.

Finally, Elle pulled her head off of Santana's shoulder.

"Santana..." She muttered.

"Yeah?" Santana replied, her arms still wrapped tightly around the girl.

"Please don't tell anyone."

"Of course not."

Elle pulled away from Santana's warm body and leaned against the wall again. She sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I'm...addicted." She stammered quietly. "I can't stop it."

Santana nodded.

"It's just, I get this feeling. It's like I _have_ to drink. And I can't just stop after one or two. I have to keep going. And I hate it."

"Why can't you stop?"

"It's like my brain's telling me I need more. Sometimes, it's all I can think about. Deep down, I know I don't want it, but my brain is telling me I do. It tells me I need to have that feeling, the feeling of letting go. It's just not satisfied with feeling a little buzzed. I literally have to get to smashed out of my mind until I can't feel anything. Until I lose control and can't think anymore. That's when I can stop—when I no longer have control. It's ironic, isn't it?" She wiped another tear from her eye.

"Why do you think you need to feel that way?"

"I need an escape."

"From what?"

Elle didn't say anything. She just continued to look at her feet and breathe slowly.

Santana reached over and rubbed her back gently.

"I don't want this anymore. I don't like feeling this way." She hiccuped.

"Of course you don't." Santana soothed.

"Normal people don't have to go through this. I'm a freshman in a high school, this shouldn't be a problem..." Her voice trailed off as she fought back more tears. "I want it to stop. I just don't know how."

They were both quiet for a few minutes.

"So why'd you sing that song?" Santana asked, breaking the silence.

"I didn't want to lie. I'm tired of lying to myself. This whole time I've told myself that it's not a problem. It just seemed like a good opportunity to convince myself otherwise. I was so scared, though. I didn't want anyone to find out. That's why I ran. I didn't want them to ask questions or get involved. I don't want people to worry about me. I'm not worth it."

"That's not true, Elle." Santana said, continuing to rub her back softly.

"It's just that when I sing, it's like I forget everything. The urge to go down a six pack is gone. It feels so good—so...normal. That's why I sing, because it feels right. It makes me feel normal. And that's all I really want."

She reached over and hugged Santana, nestling herself against her warm chest.

"Thank you for listening, Santana. I figured no one would care."

"It's hard not to." She replied honestly.

"And I'm sorry I called you a bitch. You're not." She pulled away from her chest and stared into the Latina's chocolate eyes.

"I don't understand why everyone says you are. You've shown me nothing but kindness."

Santana pulled away from the girl and leaned back against the wall, tilting her head up and closing her eyes.

"Well, honestly, I'm not going to lie. In school, I'm a fire-breathing bitch. I'm the head cheerleader, and undoubtably the most popular girl in school. There's so much pressure to be better than everyone else. It sort of eats away at your heart, the pressure. It feels good, though—to be the best, I mean." She sighed.  
"I've seen how everyone else is treated. It sucks. And I'm afraid that if I make one wrong move, that'll be me. So I put on this act. It's like, if I make everyone else afraid of me, I won't have to worry about fucking up. No one will challenge me, because they're too afraid of what I'll do to them. But I promise you, it's all an act."

She looked over in Elle's direction.

"I'm not really like that. The real Santana, she cares about people and their feelings. She hates throwing slushies at people who never did anything to deserve it in the first place, she hates everyone being afraid of her, she hates having so few friends, hates losing people that matter."

"Like who?"

"You know Quinn—from Glee? She and I used to be best friends. She had a baby, you know. She was popular, had an amazing boyfriend, and she was captain of the Cheerios. She had it all. She was in my exact same position. But then she got pregnant and lost it all. She was kicked off the Cheerios and her status went with her. I couldn't be her best friend anymore; I wasn't allowed to. She wasn't good enough for me, at least, that's what everyone thought. But truth is, I miss her so much. She hates me now, and it hurts so much." She shook her head, not really believing that she was admitting so much. This Santana was so honest. She liked it.

"Why don't you just tell her that?"

"I can't..."

"Why? Because everyone else will think badly about you? Fuck them." She rubbed her cheeks and laughed quietly. "She's still the same person she was before."

"Minus the bitchiness."

"Exactly. How can she be less cool? She's the same person. If nobody else sees that than they're all ignorant dicks."

Santana stared up at the ceiling.

_She has a point._

"Promise me something." Elle said quietly.

"What?"

"I'm not asking you to tell everyone and change for me, but promise me that you'll tell Quinn exactly what you told me."

"I don't know..." The idea was a little intimidating. _Quinn probably wouldn't listen anyways._

"Why not? You said you missed her."

"I do."

"Then tell her."

"I'll think about it."

"No, promise."

Santana stared into oblivion. Her mind raced. This was her opportunity. She wanted to change, and this was the first step. _Just do it, you fucking idiot._

"Okay, but only if you promise me something first."

"What?" She sounded a little nervous.

"Next time you're going to drink, call me first."

Elle raised an eyebrow.

"So I can tell you I'm about to continue to ruin my life?"

"Just do it."

"Fine, deal."

"Promise?"

"Only if you do."

"I promise."

"Then I promise too."

* * *

**A/N: **So what do you think? The beginning of this chapter was me with massive writer's block, so I apologize if it's no good. I believe it got better, though! And QUESTION: I'm a little confused on the ratings system. I originally rated the story M because of the language, but I've seen a lot worse in stories that were T. So would it be appropriate to change the rating to T? I don't have plans for anything risque, so the language is the only concerning factor.

Review please! I appreciate all opinions, praise, criticism, and suggestions. Thanks for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

**Warning: **Language

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee.

* * *

Her mom got home late from work, so it was nearly evening by the time Santana and her mom arrived back at their house from the car dealership. A little frustrated that she wasn't already at Brittany's, she stormed upstairs to her room and shut the door. She threw herself face first onto the bed and groaned into the sheets. Rolling herself over so she was on her back, she sighed. Then she reached into her jeans' pocket and pulled out her phone and began to text.

**Sorry that I took so long, B. Just got home.**

**That's ok.**

**I'll start getting my stuff and leave in like 20 minutes.**

**Ok. I miss you.**

**Miss you too.**

She threw her phone down next to her and extended her arms out to her sides. _I suck._ She stared up at the blank ceiling. _Why am I not rushing over to Brittany's house like usual? God, I am such a downer right now._ The conversation in the school bathroom would not leave her mind the entire afternoon. As much as she tried to distract herself from what had happened and what had been said, bits and pieces of things kept playing over and over again in her mind like they were on some endless loop. She tried to forget, tried to ignore the on-edge, uncomfortable feeling that she was experiencing, but the entire thing had put her in a strange mood. She was feeling awfully down, not quite depressed, but a little melancholy. On top of that, her mom delaying her chance to ignore it all by going over to Brittany's was frustrating and added to the mix of feelings that she was experiencing.

She turned her head to the side and stared at the phone. Feeling curious, she reached out for it and held it with both hands above her head. She scrolled through her contacts until she stopped on a particular name. _Quinn Fabray._ She stared at the name, a little unsure of what to do. Taking a breath, she typed out a text and sent it.

**Hey.**

She waited and continually stared at the cieling, clutching the phone tightly against her chest. Seconds passed that felt more like minutes. _Would she even text back?_

Then, it vibrated.

**What do you want?**

What do _you_ want? Santana could hear the way she would emphasize the _you_ in disgust.

**Nothing. What's up?**

**Watching TV.**

**Oh, fun.**

**Not really...**

Santana realized that the conversation, what little of it there was, was going no where, and Quinn seemed to be in no big hurry to talk to her. _Do it._

Her hands shook as she typed out the next message and sent it.

**Q, I need to tell you something.**

**What?**

**Well you know how before stuff happened when we were friends and you were a Cheerio?**

**It's not like I forgot. Where is this going?**

Her fingers froze and her mouth got dry. She bent her fingers to type, but retracted them, unsure of what to say.

**I like your hair more now. It looks better down.**

As soon as she sent the text she threw her phone to the other side of the bed and crawled over to her pillow. She then pulled the pillow over her face and screamed into it angrily. _You fucking suck! Why the fuck did you say that? Now you sound like more of a fucking asshole than you did before. She'll never take you seriously. Fuck!_

She began to pound her balled up fists into the bed when she felt the phone vibrate near her feet. She looked up from the pillow at the phone. _Do I even want to know what it says?_

She decided to look anyway. Holding her breath, she grabbed the phone and opened the text.

**Could you bring the movie about the duck? I like that one.**

She exhaled deeply, her heart no longer beating five times faster than what felt like normal.

**Sure, B.**

Then the phone vibrated again. This time, since she was already in the inbox, the message popped up on its own.

**That's all? Wow, thanks. Bye.**

Before Santana had a chance to think about the who the message was from, she read it. Her fists balled up again and she groaned angrily. _FUCK! Now she's never going to accept an apology. Not like you even have the balls to give her one..._

Crossing her arms, she flopped down against the bed and buried her head in the sheets. _Why does everything suck so much?

* * *

_

**A/N: **Short, I know! Over the last few days I was working on Chapter 7 and having a really hard time with it. It just didn't feel right. So I wrote a filler chapter (this one), and it's amazing how much difference that makes. Look for an update sometime within the next two days!

Please review and enjoy!

Oh, and on a happy note, YAY FOR THE CAST OF GLEE GOING BACK TO WORK TODAY!


	8. Chapter 8

**Warning: **Brief Language  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or Lady Gaga. But I damn wish I did.

* * *

It was Sunday afternoon. Santana was spending the weekend, as per usual, at Brittany's house. They hadn't really done much over the weekend. They spent most of the time hanging out around the house, but they did get a chance to see a movie and go to the mall on Saturday. This "BFF time" as Brittany called it, was Santana's favorite part of the week. She relished spending time with the one person she felt truly understood her. Even if Brittany wasn't the brightest bulb in the socket, she was amazing company. The pair always had a good time hanging out and enjoyed being in each other's presence.

Santana was lying on Brittany's bed while Brittany sat on the floor stretching her legs. They were listening to the radio and gossiping with each other when Santana's phone rang. She stared at the illuminated name on the screen as the ringer played. Her smile faded and her muscles tensed as she picked up the phone.

"Hello?" Her voice contained a hint of worry.

"Hey..."

"Hi."

"Santana, it's Elle."

"I know."

"Oh, well—"

"Is something wrong?" She lowered her voice to nearly a whisper, panic beginning to take hold of her.

Brittany cocked her head at the dark-haired girl, confused at the worry in her best friend's voice.

"You said I should call you."

"Well I don't just give my number out to anyone," she joked.

"But you know. When I—you know."

Santana didn't respond.

"I, uh, am really craving a drink right now. And you said to call next time I was going to..."

"Say no more."

"What?"

"I'm coming over. I'll be right there."

"What? Why?"

"Would you stop asking questions already?"

"Sorry. But are you sure?"

"That's another question. And yes, I am. Don't leave. Just stay where you are. You are home, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then stay there. Bye!"

"Bye?"

The phone clicked and the call ended.

Santana threw herself off the bed and stumbled over into the bedroom's en suite. She quickly ran a brush through her long dark hair and began to put on some mascara.

"Who was that?" Brittany climbed onto her bed and stared into the bathroom at Santana.

"A friend."

"You're not ditching me to go make out with some guy are you? Because if you are...I wouldn't mind going with you."

"What? No, B. I'd never ditch you for anything with a penis. Promise."

"Alright..."

Santana finished her make up and then grabbed her purse and a jacket from Brittany's floor.

"I've got somewhere I need to be." She stopped and stared at Brittany who now sitting cross-legged on her bed. Her face was sad and she hung her head slightly.

"Aw, B. It's nothing against you. I just have to take care of something. It's important. And I'll come back."

She walked over to the blonde and gave her a hug. "I love ya', B." She whispered into her ear as she pulled away from the hug.

"Love you too, San." Brittany's voice was quiet.

"Text me," she yelled over her shoulder as she made her way out of the bedroom.

She galloped down the stairs and passed through the great room.

"Santana? Leaving so soon?" Britany's mom asked as she noticed Santana heading for the door.

"Only for now. I'll be back later, if that's alright." She stopped and looked at the both of Brittany's parents who were seated on the couch. Brittany's mom was the only one of the two that spoke fluent English. Her husband was from Amsterdam and spoke Dutch, but was slowly beginning to pick up the language.

She nodded. "Of course, hon." She looked to her husband and mumbled something in Dutch. He mumbled back.

"Dinner's at seven." She said, looking back up at Santana. "Drive safe."

"Yes, ma'am." Santana was always polite at the residence, despite how homely it felt; Brittany was like her sister and her parents were like second parents.

She exited the front door and headed for her car. Throwing her stuff in the passenger seat, she started the car and began the drive to Elle's house.

Once reaching the house, she stood on the front porch and knocked on the door. A good twenty seconds later the door open a cracked and a pair of eyes peeked out. The eyes briefly locked on the Latina before they retracted and the door swung open. Elle stood in the doorway wearing comfy-looking sweatpants and a "University of Washington" sweatshirt. Her long blonde hair looked freshly blowdryed and she had on a pair of dark rimmed glasses. The look on her face was a mix between confused, relieved, and uncomfortably awkward.

"Oh, hey." She said sheepishly.

"Hey."

"Mind explaining to me what brings you here?"

"Mind letting me in? Or am I not welcome?"

"No, sorry. Come in." She stood to the side and let Santana walk past her before shutting the door.

Elle led her into the kitchen where there was a comfy armchair near a little table in the breakfast nook. She curled up on the chair, tucking her legs underneath of her and leaning against one of the arms. Santana took a seat on a stool at the bar that was across from the breakfast nook.

"Is your dad home? Santana asked, noticing how quiet the house was.

"No, he's working."

"On a Sunday?"

"Yep. Times are hard right now. And with my mom gone, we're a one paycheck family living a two paycheck life."

"Oh. Does that bother you? Being home alone on weekends, I mean."

"No, I like it actually..."

It was quiet for a moment.

"Since when do you wear glasses?"

"They're just for reading."

"Were you reading?"

"Yeah," she patted a book that was on the table next to her. "It kind of helps take my mind off of—things."

"Speaking of things..." Santana began. "Mind telling me why you called?"

"I told you why." The blonde said quietly.

"Remind me." Santana retorted.

Elle sighed before saying, "I got a sudden urge to start drinking, and I was going to too. But I didn't want to break my promise. So I called you."

"Have you had anything to drink?"

"No."

"Do you still want to?"

"Hell yeah. That's why I've been in the kitchen for the last twenty minutes—I know there's beer in the fridge." She nodded over towards the refrigerator.

"What are you feeling?"

"Right now? It's kind of like an itch that won't go away no matter how much you scratch at it, for lack of a better phrase. To be honest, it's making me really anxious."

"Why?"

"Because I normally just give in to it. Which brings me to a question. Why are you here?"

Santana looked around the room and then back at the small girl cuddled up in her chair.

"Well, you said you wanted to stop drinking. So I'm going to help you."

"How? By playing my babysitter?"

"Sure, I guess you could say that." She chuckled lightly, a serious edge to her laugh. "I'm not going to let you drink. No matter how much you want to."

"Great." She rolled her eyes. "And how are you going to go about doing that?"

"Let's start by getting away from the room with beer. Let's go upstairs."

Elle looked from the refrigerator to Santana, then back to the refrigerator.

"Fine."

She led the way upstairs and into her room. Santana closed the door behind them. Elle took a seat on her bed and Santana sat down on the chair tucked underneath the desk.

"Now what?" She asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"We wait."

"What? Seriously?"

"Yep."

"That's boring." She scoffed.

"That's okay."

Santana watched the girl fidget and look around sporadically.

"How long have you had this craving? Before you called me, I mean."

"About an hour. Why?"

"Because you're fidgeting like some kid with ADHD. And you're getting frustrated."

"No, I'm not." She pouted, crossing her arms.

"Yes, you are. What are you thinking about?"

"Your stupid accusations. And that there's a six pack downstairs."

"Then let's take your mind off of it."

"Good luck with that."

Santana looked around the room for something to talk about. Her eyes eventually fell on the freshman's purple sweatshirt.

"So, University of Washington, eh?"

Elle looked down at her sweatshirt.

"Yep..."

"Why UW?"

"I'm from Seattle."

"Really? Is that where you lived before you moved here?"

"Yeah, my whole life."

"Why'd you move?"

"It was getting too expensive to live there. And my dad's job was falling through. But he got another job offer here and that's that. He jumped at the chance and we were packed and out in a month. And here I am." She picked at her toenail as she talked.

"Do you miss it?"

"Like hell. I grew up there. Everything was so familiar, so right. I miss the feeling of living in a big city where things are always happening. And I miss my friends the most."

Santana thought about asking her if her friends back in Seattle knew about her drinking problem, but quickly erased the thought from her mind when she remembered that she was trying to distract her from alcohol.

"I'm sorry..."

"Yeah, Lima just doesn't even come close to what I had in Seattle. But speaking of friends, have you talked to Quinn yet?"

Santana's cheeks blushed and her face went straight. She looked down at her feet, deciding whether or not to lie for the sake of the conversation.

"No..."

"Santana! You promised!" Elle sounded hurt and angry at the same time.

"I know! But it's not like I broke the promise. I just haven't done my half yet."

"Well, when are you going to?"

"I don't know."

"Pussy." She smiled playfully.

"Hey, c'mon!"

"You have no excuse! I stuck with my half of the promise."

"Well, to be honest, I tried."

"What do you mean?"

"Friday night, I started to text her."

"Well, what happened?"

"I chickened out and just ended up looking like a bigger ass."

Elle was silent.

"Would you please say something?" Santana finally complained.

"You motherfucking idiot!"

"WHAT?" Santana threw her hands up in confusion.

"You can't do it over a text message! That's stupid! That's like breaking up over a text. It's a dick-move."

"Oh..." Her voice trailed off. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right. I thought you had more sense than that."

"Whatever."

"Do it soon, okay?"

"Fine."

Over the next few hours the pair talked and got to know each other better. However, as time went by Elle grew more and more anxious. Her fidgeting continued and she developed a headache that was followed with random fits of irritability and increasing fatigue. Santana didn't want to admit it, but she knew they were the signs of alcohol withdrawal. It was her body's way of dealing with not being granted the satisfaction it wanted.

Around six o'clock, Elle and Santana were both sitting on the bed. They were listening to a Lady Gaga album and talking quietly. As the conversation went on, Santana realized that she was the one doing most of the talking. Elle had slowly begun to grow tired and was beginning to let her eyes drift shut.

"Tired?" Santana asked, despite how obvious it was.

"Yeah, and my head hurts. I think I want to take a nap."

"You should. How are you feeling other than that?

"Okay, I guess. I feel kind of weird, though. I don't know why. What time is it?"

Santana looked at her cell phone.

"Just after six."

"Oh no..."

"What?"

Elle sat up and hung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Santana, you need to leave now."

"Why?"

"My dad's going to be home soon."

"So?"

"He's usually not in a very good mood after work..."

"I don't care. I'd like to meet him."

Elle stood up and stared straight at Santana. Her eyes were watery and she began to sniffle.

"Santana, I'm serious. You should go." She suppressed a sniffle.

"It's not a big deal."

A tear slowly slid down Elle's cheek. At this point in the withdrawal, she was obviously emotional unstable. That, or she was really passionate about having alone time with Dad.

"Santana. Please..." The blonde's eyes got real big and she began to pout like a pro.

"Fine. But only because those puppy dog eyes are probably the most pathetic things I've ever seen."

"Thank you." She wiped her tearstained cheeks.

The two walked downstairs and into the entryway. Elle gave Santana a quick hug which Santana returned thoughtfully.

"Are you going to do this every time I tell you I want to drink something?"

"Yep. And you're going to enjoy it."

"Great. Thanks." She rolled her eyes.

Santana grabbed Elle's hand gently and held it in her own.

"Elle, I want to help you. You're a nice girl and you don't deserve this. I'm going to make this better. I don't really know how I'm going to do it or how long it will take, but I will help you."

Elle nodded her head.

"But before I can help you, you've got to answer me truthfully. Do you _want_ help?"

Elle didn't say anything. She just stared up at the Latina who was looking at her like she really cared. The way Santana said it, the way her voice was full of compassion, the way she gently held her hand, it all felt good. In fact, it felt beyond good—for someone to actually care.

"I don't want this. I never did." She whispered.

"Okay then, we're going to figure it out. Next time you get the craving to have a drink, get as far away from alcohol as you can and fight it. And call me too, I'll come over. Don't hesitate to call. I don't care what time it is, where you are, whatever. I'll be there to help you. I promise. I just need you to be strong and fight. Don't give in to it."

Elle nodded again. "I won't."

* * *

**A/N:** I'm pretty sure this is the worst chapter I've written. It took nearly twice as long as I thought it would and I'm not very happy with it. But I promised you all an update within a few days, so here's what I have. Any suggestions, comments, criticism, or praise? I appreciate it all.

OH! And can you find the line that I stole from Pretty Little Liar's most recent episode? ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Warning: **Language  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee. All other copyrighted content belongs to their respective and rightful owners.

* * *

She exited Elle's house and got into her car. Turning on the radio, she backed out of the driveway and began the drive back to Brittany's house. As she drove, she unconsciously listened to the music that quietly spilled out of the speakers in her car. There was so much on her mind; so many things she had never felt or experienced; too many things she didn't know how to handle. It was such a drastic change from the Santana that walked around school with her eyes dark and head held high. No, this Santana was vulnerable.

As the song ended, another began to play. _Stop thinking so hard and pay attention to the road. You're going to get in an accident. _So she attempted to shut it out by listening to the soft acoustic music that was now playing from the radio. However, with each and every word that came from the woman's voice, more and more emotion began to weigh heavily down on her and served as much more of a distraction than her original chaotic thoughts had been.

**It isn't very difficult to see why,**

**You are the way you are.**

**Doesn't take a genius to realize,**

**That sometimes life is hard.**

**It's gonna take time,**

**But you'll just have to wait.**

**You're gonna be fine,**

**But in the meantime...**

**Come over here lady,**

**Let me wipe your tears away,**

**Come a little nearer baby,**

**Coz you'll heal over,**

**Heal over,**

**Heal over someday.**

**And I don't wanna hear you tell yourself,**

**That these feelings are in the past.**

**No it doesn't mean they're off the shelf,**

**Because pain's built to last.**

**Everybody sails alone,**

**Oh but we can travel side by side.**

**Even if you fail,**

**You know that no one really minds.**

**Come over here lady,**

**Let me wipe your tears away,**

**Come a little nearer baby,**

**Coz you'll heal over,**

**Heal over,**

**Heal over someday.**

**Don't hold on but don't let go,**

**I know it's so hard.**

**You've got to try to trust yourself,**

**I know it's so hard, so hard.**

**Come over here lady,**

**Let me wipe your tears away,**

**Come a little nearer baby,**

**Coz you'll heal over,**

**Heal over,**

**Heal over someday. **

**Yeah you're gonna heal over.**

Suddenly, she yanked the steering wheel to the right and pulled off onto the side of the road. She jammed her foot on the break and the car came to a lurching stop. Putting it into park, she turned down the radio and leaned forward over the wheel. With her arms crossed and propped up again the top of the steering wheel, she buried her head in her arms and began to cry. Santana stayed in that same position for a good twenty minutes. The tears simply would not stop. Everything was coming down on her now: her identity crisis, the confusion over who she was and who she wanted to be, the lies that she continued to tell, the people that she had hurt, the things she had said, poor Elle's problem, everything. Nothing was right anymore. Sure she was trying to fix it, trying to take steps in the right direction, but what did it matter when there were still people she continued to hurt? What did it matter when she was still miserable and no one could see that? She wanted nothing more than to be done with it all.

Finally, pulling her head back up, Santana wiped the tears from her eyes. She looked in the mirror at her red, tearstained face and rubbed her eyes to force any more tears back. Then, putting the car back in gear, she pulled out onto the road again. However, this time, she didn't head back in the direction of Brittany's house. Instead, she drove to a house that she had visited many times before, but hadn't seen in over a year.

* * *

The sun was setting and like the light, she could feel herself fading. Everything was so complicated and nothing seemed to make sense. Nothing seemed to work. She had originally just wanted to be popular. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? But somehow everything had gone wrong. Everything changed—she changed. And slowly overtime, the sweet, caring Santana slipping away and morphed into something different, something wrong. It was like the bitterness had eaten away at her heart, at her soul. It had taken over and spread like some evil plague that wanted nothing more than to corrupt and pollute its habitant. So how do you fight the plague? You prevent infection. But it was too late for that. The damage was done and now she had to repair it.

As Santana sat in her car in the driveway of the gigantic house, she could feel her head spinning. She clenched her fists tightly until her knuckles were nearly white and she tried to control her unsteady breathing. _Am I making the right decision? Is now really the best time?_ She knew the answers to both questions and they were both pointedly obvious. Of course this was the right thing to do. She had fucked up and needed to fix things. And yes, the sooner the better. This had to be done and the sooner it happened the better she would feel._ I don't even know what to say..._

Regardless, she swallowed and dragged herself out of the car. The walk to the front porch of the small mansion wasn't a long one, but she wished it was. Stopping in front of the wide double doors, she swallowed again and slowly raised her hand to ring the doorbell. _It's not too late to bail. Do it now, while you still have the chance._

She pushed the button.

It was too late to escape now, so she continued to stand in front of the closed doors while she cleared her throat and tried to prevent her body from shaking. Then, one of the doors opened.

"Santana? Is that you? It's been such a long time! How are you?"

"Hey, Mrs. Fabray. I'm doing alright, I guess."

The older blonde's mouth twitched and she uncomfortably scratched the back of her neck.

_Did I say something wrong?_

"That's good. Well, come in, come in." She said a little awkwardly as she ushered the Latina inside.

"Thanks."

Santana took off her shoes and looked around the large grand entryway that she seemed to only half recognize anymore.

"Is Quinn home?" She lowered her voice a little and attempted to not stumble over the words that she was having a hard time uttering.

"Yeah, she's in her room. You can go on up. Oh, we've already eaten, but are you hungry? I can make something if you'd like."

"Oh, no, no thanks. I'm having dinner with Brittany's family later."

"Alright. Just holler if you need anything."

"K, thanks."

She exited the room towards the living room and Santana watched her leave. When Quinn's mom was out of sight, Santana slowly began to ascend the stairs that led to the second floor bedrooms. She deliberately moved at a snail's pace, letting her feet stop on every step and trying not to make a sound. Once reaching the top of the stairs, she thought about going back down and repeating the process of climbing the stairs, but instead continued along an artfully decorated hallway until she reached the familiar door that led to Quinn's bedroom.

The door was shut and no noise was coming from the inside. _Maybe Mrs. Fabray lied and she's not actually home._ But then a faint noise that she was unsure if she had actually heard penetrated the air. She had to press her ear to the door to correctly hear what it was. At first it sounded like soft mumbling, but then she began to hear the quiet and beautifully gentle notes of a song being sung. The voice was like an angel's: soft, sweet, light, and airy.

Feeling a little embarrassed to have been eavesdropping, she immediately backed away from the door. She stared at it, as if the longer she looked at it the more confidence she would have. But of course, confidence didn't come. She was just as nervous as before. _Leave before you do something stupid. _But then she raised her hand and knocked.

The barely audible murmur of singing stopped and it was quiet for a tiny second that seemed to last more like an hour. Then a voice came from the other side of the door.

"Yeah?"

Santana grabbed the doorknob tightly in her hand, turned it, and hesitantly pushed the door open.

Quinn was sitting on her bed, nail polish in hand, and was painting her toes. She had on a white dress with a purple cardigan and her blonde hair was perfectly straight. Santana wished she had had a camera to capture the look on the blonde's face when she saw her standing there in the doorway.

Quinn jumped in surprise and her mouth hung open in shock. Her eyes got wide for a brief second, but then narrowed as a confused look washed over her face.

"Sa—Santana?" She stuttered. "Wha—what are you doing here?" She shook her head and looked around the room in utter confusion.

Santana made the rest of the way into the room and shut the door behind her. She took a few steps so she was no longer nestled against the door and stared at the floor as she traced patterns into the soft carpet with her foot.

"I need to talk to you." She instantly felt her cheeks blush and attempted to lower her head even more to hide them.

"About what?" Quinn's voice was beginning to return to normal: her words no longer dripping in shock and now starting to sound somewhat annoyed.

Santana was quiet for a second while she relaxed her breathing and focused on what to say.

"Us."

Quinn cocked her head to the side as she searched for a hidden meaning in the words.

"Me, you, everything." Santana clarified.

"I'm afraid I don't understand..." She screwed the cap of the nail polish back onto the bottle and set it on the floor.

"Then just listen to me. Give me a chance to speak."

"Why should I?" She retorted. "What makes you think that I want to listen after how you've treated me?"

"Well, that's kind of what I wanted to talk about," she began, but Quinn interrupted her.

"Ever since I was kicked off the Cheerios, it was like I didn't matter to you anymore. We'd been friends since middle school, Santana, middle school! But that obviously didn't mean anything to you! You were a total ass and acted like none of what we had gone through mattered!" Her words came quickly. "I was alone and lost and helpless and needed a friend—my best friend, but you weren't there for me. How can you possibly think that I want to—"

"Quinn, I miss you."

"Listen to any—wait, what?" She squinted her eyes and leaned forward a little.

"I...I miss you. And I am so, so sorry." Santana's chocolate eyes pleaded for forgiveness. "Everyday I wake up and wonder who I am. I wonder why I've become what I've become, because Quinn, I can't stand myself. Every morning I lye in bed and think about this awful person I've turned into and how I hate everything that I've done. I have feelings, but I can't even let people know because I'm afraid of what will happen to me. I've turned into such a bitch, and at first it was all an act, but now I don't even know what's real and what's an act. I just don't know who I am anymore! And it hurts so badly to see the way I've fucked up so many things. I've been mean to people who never deserved it, made bad choices, and hurt people that I loved and cared about—you included. I'm tired of being this person! I'm tired of lying to everyone and lying to myself. I want my old life back, and you're part of it. I want you back, Q. I need you."

She stopped to breathe, fighting back tears and staring pleadingly and intently at the blonde before her.

"You have to understand, I love you, Q. I never for one minute hated you. I never meant the things I said to you and I'm so unbelievably sorry about the way that I treated you. Please understand that I was scared, that the whole time I wanted to fucking kill myself when I saw you confused and alone and hurt. I know you hate me, and you have every right to, but please just know that I miss you and love you so much."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I miss my best friend."

Neither girl spoke. Santana's whole body shook and her breathing was sporadic while Quinn just stared at Santana, her mouth shut tight, face blank and unreadable.

Then, Quinn slowly slid off the bed. She hesitantly stepped towards the taller Latina and stopped just inches from her.

"You mean that?" She asked, her voice quiet.

Santana opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, she just nodded her head, but as she did her chin began to quiver and the tears that she had been fighting the entire time broke lose from her tear ducts.

The tears were the only proof Quinn seemed to need. She obligingly threw her arms around the darker girl's body and pulled her in against her. She hugged her briefly then used one arm to cradle Santana's back while she moved the other to rest against the back of her head. Santana pressed herself against the blonde and tucked her head between Quinn's neck and shoulder as she let the tears fall freely from her eyes. Quinn rubbed her back and tried to shush her but she too found herself close to tears.

Eventually Quinn dragged Santana over towards the bed and sat her down gently. She sat down next to her and continued to rub her back as she said, "Now slow down and tell me what's wrong." Santana nodded and swallowed her tears back.

"Freshman year, when we both made the squad, I realized that being a Cheerio was about more than being a cheerleader. It was about being popular. You knew that too. And as time went on, I realized that I was too nice, too vulnerable to be the popular Cheerio. I just wouldn't have fit in. So I changed myself."

"I can't say I didn't do the same." Quinn interrupted.

"Yeah, but I took it too far. You were still soft and caring underneath the hard exterior. As for me, I lost my old self entirely. Like I said, at first it was an act. But then it became me. I was a bitch, and that was who I was—who I am. I lost control and got so caught up in acting the part that it just went from acting to simply being. And now, it's gone too far. I'm so tired of being this person, Quinn. I want people to be able to trust me. I want them to not be afraid of me anymore. And as for you, when you were kicked off the Cheerios because of what happened, I was so afraid of what would happen to me that I felt like I had no other choice than to be a jerk to you. I know it was selfish, but please forgive me."

"I don't blame you."

"Huh?" Santana was surprised by her words.

"I can't. I know the pressure you're under and I can understand why you did what you did."

"But the way you acted around me—"

"Well you can't blame me, either. I was angry. My best friend had ditched me and thrown me under a bus. Just because I understand why you acted that way doesn't mean I wasn't angry. It didn't change the way you treated me. The words and names that you called me still hurt just as bad."

"I'm honestly sorry about that."

Quinn nodded.

"This has been weighing down on me lately, this person I don't want be anymore. There has been so much on mind, so many things that have been bothering me and suddenly it just came crashing down." She shook her head slowly as she talked. "I want to fix it and get rid of all this. I'm sick of being a bitch and I want to change. But, I can't do it by myself, I'm not strong enough. I need help. And that's where you come in. I need my best friend."

Quinn nodded again. "Why'd you come here?"

"So I could apologize to you and explain myself." She was a little surprised by the blonde's question. _Did she just ignore everything I just said?_

"Why now? It's been a year since everything went bad."

"Because at first it was hard. But now, it's unbearable. This whole thing has left me with so much pain and I just want to get rid of it all. I'm sorry that I didn't have the strength to do it earlier and that I ruined our friendship in the first place."

"You know, things aren't going too well for me right now."

"Like what?"

Quinn sighed. "I have virtually no friends, everyone still hates me, I had a baby, and my parents are divorced."

_Dammit. _Santana remembered back to what she said to Quinn's mom in the doorway. _'Hey, Mrs. Fabray.' Mrs. Ah, fuck._

"How has that been?"

"Which part?"

"The divorce."

"It's been hard. But I guess if my dad couldn't accept me, if I didn't live up to his standards, then it's for the best that he's not here. My parents always had a tough time, though. There was always a disagreement over _something._" She hung her head slightly.

Santana reached out and arm and hooked it around the blonde's back and pulled her against her side.

"I'm sorry, Q."

Quinn nodded and rested her head against Santana's shoulder. The two were quiet, lost in the moment, their memories, and their thoughts.

Santana was the one to break the silence.

"I missed this." She said, referring to their closeness and their own confiding in each other.

"Me too."

"I'm sorry that I fucked up."

"It's okay. As long as you promise to be honest with me and yourself from here on out."

"So you're accepting my apology?"

"How can I not? You're my best friend and I missed you. I needed you too."

Santana rested her head against the blonde head that was propped on her shoulder.

"Thank you."

"Thank _you_."

"For what?"

"For coming back."

* * *

**A/N: **I hope that was as sickly sweet for you as it was meant to be when I wrote it. This was a really tough chapter for me to write and I hadn't intended on writing this so soon, but I ended up sitting in my bed for hours on end in the odd hours of the morning with insane writer's block. So this is what I eventually came up with. I actually was going to divide it into two chapters, but it just kept coming and fit pretty well together, which explains why it's so much longer than normal.

Anyways, I'd like to say thank you to everyone who has read this, reviewed, favorited, and added to their alerts. I was never really very confident in my writing, and with this being the first time I've ever let anyone read my fiction, it means a lot to read all the positive words and feedback that you all have given me. It gives me such a good feeling and makes me smile to know that people appreciate my work. So thank you all so much for that. I hope to update again by Friday.

Reviews, praise, comments, questions, and criticism are always welcomed! Thanks for reading.


	10. Chapter 10

**Warning: **Brief Language  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee.

* * *

It wasn't until just before seven that Santana showed up at Brittany's house. She didn't bother knocking, just went straight on in. She stopped briefly to pop her head into the kitchen to announce to Brittany's parents that she was back, and then she ran up the stairs to her other best friend's room. Closing the door behind her, a smile on her face, she practically pounced on Brittany.

"You're back!" Brittany shouted, holding out her arms for a hug.

"I said I'd come back." She replied as she leaned into Brittany's hug.

"Oh yeah..." Brittany pulled away from the embrace. "Why are you in such a good mood?"

Santana smiled even wider. But before she had a chance to speak, Brittany's mom could be heard calling them down for dinner. Santana looked towards the closed door then back at her friend. "I'll tell you after dinner."

Dinner was relatively normal, aside from Santana being a little chattier than usual from her good mood. Most of it was spent in conversation between Santana, Brittany, Brittany's younger sister, and mom. However, occasionally Brittany's parents would speak entirely to one another switching between Dutch and English depending on who was talking. The Latina generally enjoyed the time she spent with her second family, but today she was anxious to be done with it so she could tell Brittany what had happened.

Although she was going to tell her about what had happened between her and Quinn, the conversation with Elle and what led up to her going to Quinn's in the first place would still be kept a secret. Brittany was her best friend, (aside from Quinn) and she was comfortable with telling her things that she couldn't tell other people. However, Elle had asked Santana not to tell anyone about her drinking. That was a secret and a promise that she intended to keep. Thankfully, Brittany most likely wouldn't ask, or notice, for that matter. But it was Quinn that Santana worried about. She was a smart girl and knew Santana well enough to read her—despite the lapse in their friendship. The easy part would be to keep the secret. The hard part, to have to lie to her best friend if and when she were to bring it up.

Once Brittany and Santana finished their meal, they both returned upstairs. Closing the door behind them, they climbed up onto Brittany's bed and sat at opposite ends facing each other.

"So spill!" The blonde sounded excited. She smiled wide and quietly clapped her hands together.

"I don't know if you're going to believe me."

"What? Tell me!"

"I don't know..." She toyed with the blonde. "It doesn't sound like you really want to know."

"I do, really!"

Santana wasn't sure if Brittany understood that she was joking.

"I went to go see someone."

"Who?"

Santana paused to make her answer a little dramatic. Then, quietly and casually she said, "Quinn." It was the truth after all.

Brittany let out a little squeal and began to bounce up and down excitedly on the bed. She had never really understood why Santana had treated Quinn any differently once she was pregnant and off the Cheerios. In her mind, (and God knows what happens in there) nothing was wrong or any different. Throughout the previous school year she had constantly been nagging Santana to repair their friendship, and as much as Santana wanted to take her advice, she wasn't willing to—up until a few hours ago.

"What happened?" She asked through a big grin.

"Well remember how we talked about me not liking who I am and wanting to change?"

The taller girl nodded.

"Well I want to start making those changes, and I thought I'd start with Quinn. So, I went to her house and we talked in her room for a long time."

"What did you talk about?"

"Well, everything. At first she wouldn't listen to me; she said she didn't want to. But then I just started talking and everything kind of spilled out."

"She listened then?"

"Yeah. I think she was really surprised to hear that coming from me—I mean, even more surprised than seeing me standing there." She laughed. "You should have seen her face. It was priceless."

"I bet! What happened next?" Brittany was leaning in closer and closer with each detail that came out of Santana's mouth.

"Well, to be honest, I started crying."

"Awww, San! That's so sweet." Brittany crawled over to her and rested a hand on her knee.

"Yeah, everything sort of just hit me. I knew how much I missed her before, but when it was all in the moment it just got so overwhelming. And then spilling my guts for her and telling her how I much I wanted to change—I couldn't help it. It was probably pretty pathetic looking."

"Well I think it's sweet."

"Thanks?" She scratched at the back of her neck and tried to stop herself from blushing.

"Then what happened?"

"We just talked more. I told her how this all started and I apologized too. Then she talked a little about what she's going through and how tough everything's been on her."

Brittany nodded.

"Her parents are divorced now. Did you know that? I guess I never really thought about what she's had to go through."

"Poor Quinn."

"Yeah, she said it herself that she really needed me and that I wasn't there for her. I feel really bad about that."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, San. You're here now and that's all that matters. Things are going to be good from here on out. It'll be like old times." She smiled and attempted to cheer up the Latina. "Wait. She did accept your apology, right? You're friends again?"

"Mhm." Santana smiled and nodded.

Brittany let out another squeal and hugged Santana again.

"I'm really happy, B. It feels so good to get that all off my chest. I haven't felt this way in a really long time."

"I'm happy for you, San. When you're happy, I'm happy."

* * *

Santana went home shortly after for the first time since Friday. She wished that she could stay over at Brittany's longer, but with school looming in the morning, her parents would never agree. As it was, they were barely okay with her living there on the weekends. She didn't hate her life at home. No, she had loving parents and a good upbringing, but there was something appealing about the way life was at Brittany's house. Perhaps it was the feeling of being able to talk to someone about her problems and having someone that would listen and be honest with her without judging her. Or perhaps it was just the company of a best friend. She wasn't quite sure.

She greeted her parents lazily when she got home. Exhausted from the day's events, she trudged upstairs to her room and closed the door. Lying down on her bed, she reached for her phone and began to text Brittany.

Tomorrow was going to be tough. As the next step in repairing the relationship between her and Quinn, Santana planned on spending as much time as possible with the blonde. It was the reaction of the rest of the school that scared her. What would they think? Would she be ostracized for it? The idea of being the center of such negative attention was an intimidating one, but it was something that she knew she would have to risk and get over. _Nothing ought to come between us. I can't let anything happen now that I'm trying to fix things. I'll just have to get over it and do my best not to fuck things up again. Anyway, I said I wanted to change. This is going to help. And who cares what everyone thinks?_

She interrupted her thoughts to remember something. 'Because everyone else will think badly about you? Fuck them.' Elle had told her to not care about what anyone else thought. She had also told her to fix things with Quinn and here she was feeling better than she had in a long time. For someone with such a horrible problem, she certainly gave good advice.

_I should tell Elle!_ The thought snapped her away from all the rambling going on in her brain. So she lifted her phone off her chest and dialed the freshman's number—this was worth a call, not a text. The phone rang several times but no one ever answered. It went straight to voicemail, one of which Santana didn't bother to leave. Disappointed, she threw the phone down on the bed and preceded to get herself ready for bed.

Half an hour later she's lying in bed texting Brittany when her phone rings. She looks at the name on the screen and her stomach just about does a somersault.

"Hey." She answered.

"Hey, Santana. Sorry that I missed your call. I was playing music pretty loud and didn't hear my phone ring."

"Oh, that's alright."

"So did you need something?"

"Well I kind of wanted to talk to you about something. But it's late now and I'm about to fall asleep, so I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Are you going to be home tomorrow?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I figured I'd drop by after Cheerios practice so we can talk about it. If that's okay with you."

"No, that's fine I guess. We can't talk during school?"

"I'd rather talk about it in private, even though you'll probably see what I'm talking about in Glee tomorrow."

"Okay, now I really want to know." Santana could hear a muffled laugh from the other line.

"Sorry, you'll to wait. Oh, before I go, how was the rest of the day? For your _thing_, I mean."

"Well if you're asking if I drank something after you left, then no, I was fine. But if you're asking how I was feeling because of it, then I feel like shit. I slept for a while after you left and I had to take a really cold shower and quarantine myself in my room for the rest of the night to clear my head. It sucks. Remind me why I'm doing this again?"

"Because you don't want to do this anymore, remember?"

"Vaguely. Well anyways, goodnight, Santana."

"Night, Elle."

She pressed the red button on her cell and ended the call.

* * *

The next day was oddly comforting and stressful at the same time. In classes that she shared with Quinn, she made sure to sit next to her, even if it meant kicking some other kid out of their spot so she could do it. Hey, one step at a time, right? Between periods she would walk with Brittany and Quinn on either side of her, the trio talking and laughing with each other like nothing ever happened. She constantly was receiving weird looks and murmurs from the other kids in the halls and in class, but she did her best to ignore them. The hardest part was to not resort to her old head bitch self and defer them away with an evil glare or snide remark. Instead, she tried her hardest to keep her head up and away from the curious eyes. At lunch, instead of sitting with the rest of the Cheerios like usual, she sat with Quinn and the rest of the Glee club at their table, taking Brittany with her, who, of course, didn't mind.

By the time Glee Club rolled around, she was anxious to show off her most recent accomplishment to Elle. However, the blonde freshman was nowhere to be found. When she didn't show up for Glee, Santana was extremely disappointed. Although she liked the idea of telling her about Quinn rather than showing her first, she was sad to see that the young girl wouldn't get to be surprised by the sight of the two recently reunited friends.

After Cheerios practice, Santana was tired but eager to talk to Elle. She drove to the girl's house and rang the doorbell. She stood there for a full minute, but there was no response. She rung again and even knocked afterwards, but again, there was no answer.

_She said she'd be home. Maybe she's just listening to music again and can't hear me._

Taking out her phone, she sorted through her contacts until she found Elle's name and dialed the number. The phone rang and rang, but like the previous night, Elle didn't pick up. Sighing, Santana thrust her phone back in her pocket and hesitantly reached for the doorknob. Grabbing it loosely in her hand, she contemplated the practicality and morality of letting herself in. Her dad wouldn't be home, and she wouldn't care. She had said she was going to come by on the phone last night, anyway. _Ah, what the hell._

She twisted her wrist and the knob surprisingly turned all the way, allowing for her to push the door open easily. It wasn't locked. _Is it still breaking in when the door's unlocked? _Slowly entering the house, she shut the door. She stood in the foyer cautiously.

"Hello?" She called quietly. "Is anyone home?"

When there was no answer, she slowly walked through the kitchen and living room looking around for anyone that was home. She made a loop of the entire first floor and found herself back in the foyer. There was no loud music playing, so if Elle was home, there couldn't have been much reason for her to not have heard the doorbell or the knocking.

She deciding to check Elle's room next. If she wasn't in there, she would leave. There was no point in waiting for her to come home. That would have been weird and creepy.

Once reaching the second floor, she found Elle's closed door. Grasping the knob, she eased the door all the way open. What she saw next made her heart skip a beat and she let out a terrified gasp.

* * *

**A/N: ** **Please read! **I apologize for the cliff hanger! I never had any intention of doing that, but I'm really busy today (Thursday) and won't get a chance to write what I planned on including in this chapter. Sadly, I will not be updating anymore for at least 9-10 days. I'm going away on vacation tomorrow (Friday) and won't have internet access. I will be bringing my laptop with me, but whether I get around to writing anymore, I can't say. Hopefully a little time off will refresh my brain and get the creative juices flowing again.

Reviews, comments, questions, praise, and criticism is always helpful and appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

**Warning: **Language, Adult Themes  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee.

* * *

_SANTANA'S POV:_

I think my heart stopped—just for a split second, but I'm pretty sure it did. I wasn't sure if what I was seeing was actually there or if my mind was just fucking with me, because as quickly as I saw it it was gone. But what I had _thought _I had seen disturbed me. It sent a tremor down my spine. No, actually, down my entire body. Along with that, my breath quivered and my hands shook. I probably looked pretty dumb standing there like that, with my mouth wide open and a look of confused terror written all over my face. Too bad I couldn't have seen myself, it would have been good for a little laugh. I tried to make a sound, but nothing would come out—the words were stuck in my throat. This was all becoming a little overwhelming. I lifted my hands and rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't just seeing things. God, I hoped I was.

Elle was standing across the room from me, in front of her dresser with her back to me and the door. The door. I should leave before she realizes I'm here.

She finished pulling on her shirt and smoothed out the bottom of it with her palms.

Leave. Leave. Leave. Now.

My feet wouldn't move. Dammit. Move. NOW!

The damn things just wouldn't move. So for some reason—my brain seemed to not like listening to me anymore—I did the exact opposite.

Breaking the silence in the room, I cleared my throat noisily, alerting the blonde to my presence.

Elle jumped in surprise and whirled around towards the source of the noise. She jumped again when she saw me there. She raised a hand and put it over her fast-beating heart. I watched her exhale and saw her tensed muscles relax.

"Oh, it's just you. Hell, Santana! You scared me."

I didn't say anything—I couldn't. The words were still stuck.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but then her eyes went wide and she closed her mouth abruptly. Her face went blank and then was quickly taken over by a look of sudden fear.

That look all about confirmed it. I wasn't seeing things—my mind wasn't fucking with me. I wished it had been, though.

"H—ho—how long have you been standing there?" She stammered as she took in my face. Her own face confirmed my suspicion, and mine, her fear of me seeing.

This time, I didn't even try to say anything. I just took a slow step in her direction.

"Santana..."

I took another step.

I hated to do this. But it was too late. I was still here and it was too late to avoid it. I had seen more than enough—we both knew it. There was no avoiding it, so I had to address it.

My cheeks was burning and I wondered if I was blushing. My whole face was hot and I felt my hands growing clammy and sweaty inside my balled-up fists as I continued to slowly walk towards the cowering girl in front of me.

As I approached her, she took a step back and practically shrank in size, substantially reducing her already short stature. She stared up at me, eyes wide and scared.

"Elle." I said sternly. "What was that?"

I heard her swallow. "What was what?"

"Don't fucking play games with me, kid." My voice was steady despite my shaking body. "What _was _that?"

I inched closer to her and she played with her hands in front of her chest. I could see the internal debate going on inside of her by the look in her eyes. It bothered me to know that she would trust me with her other problem, but not this.

"Errr..." She squeaked.

"Show me." I stopped a foot from her.

"No, no..." She whispered while shaking her head.

"Elle, lift up your shirt." My voice took on a harsher tone.

She stared at the ground for a few moments until she raised her gaze to meet mine. Our eyes locked and chocolate met blue. Her light eyes seemed to plead to mine. They wanted me to let it go, to leave and forget what I had seen. They seemed to tell me that no one—more say than her alcoholism—was supposed to know about this. But to me, that was all the more reason to press. I felt bad for making her do this, but this wasn't something I could easily forget about. It was too serious; something I wouldn't be able to stand knowing without doing something about.

"Lift up your fucking shirt or I'll do it for you." This time my voice was almost angry—all the while staring into those big blue eyes.

Her body shook as she examined my face. There was no hint of doubt or playfulness on it. I was serious, and she saw that. I had meant everything I had said, and the harsh angry tones were a byproduct of my unstable emotions. My expression said: 'I refuse to take this lightly', and damn it and her if she couldn't see that.

I waited and eventually I saw her muscles go limp. Her bottom lip began to quiver as she hung her head and conceded to me. She slowly turned around to face away from me with her back arched as she leaned over slightly in defeat.

I was pretty sure we both gulped in unison as my hand reached for the bottom of her shirt. Letting my hand grasp the soft fabric, I braced myself for the same image that had previously conjured and been stuck in my mind.

I yanked the shirt up and held it so the bottom was raised slightly above her shoulder blades.

My heart skipped another beat.

My eyes hadn't lied to me before. What I had seen was exactly what I had thought, but exactly what I didn't want to see. I'm not saying I regret knowing—it's for the best that I do—but I had a hard time getting that image out of my mind. The longer I stared at it, speechless, the more I could feel the image burning into the back of my eyes.

As I stared, I didn't know what to say. What was there to say? Elle was silent too. Neither of us seemed to know what to do or say to each other. I tried to swallow my nerves, but something, again, was stuck in my throat and I tried not to choke as the saliva refused to venture down it.

Instantly, a pang of guilt crept through my body. This was all too much, and _I_ had to be the one burdened with it. Suddenly, I wished I had never been at that party. I wished that I had never helped take her home that night and I wished that I had never gone into the bathroom to find her alone, crying in the stall. This scene would haunt my dreams, I knew it, and I wanted nothing of it.

But then again, if I had never befriended Elle, I most likely would have never made amends with Quinn. And being friends with Quinn again was one of the most amazing things I had felt in a long time. That friendship was bringing out so many positive things from within me, so many things that I was starting to actually like about myself, and I didn't want to forget feeling that way. I did not regret the decision to change and fix my life. And without Elle, I never could have been able to make that decision. That was reality, and I had to accept it and be thankful for it. So, I pushed the negative thoughts away from my mind and stared even more intently at the nearly bare back of the small girl in front of me.

All along the expanse of her mid and upper back was a sea of dark purple and blue splotches. But those splotches weren't just _any _ol' splotches, they, to my fear, were fresh, angry bruises. Some were small and others extremely large, and there were even a few green and yellow ones mixed in—obviously older than the others. What scared me the most were the two groups that ran almost symmetrical to one another—each individually located on her opposite sides. These were clusters of five, smaller, oval-shaped bruises that ran in a fan-shaped line up her sides. What they were from was obvious—fingers—someone's skin tight grasp.

I inhaled sharply, unable to contain my shock and confusion. This sent a shiver down the length of her body.

Although I probably shouldn't have, I carefully dropped one of my hands from the grip on her shirt and reached down to gently run my fingers down her spine and along the bruises. I felt her body tense up and she breathed in quickly from what I'm sure was pain. In response to her reaction, I rapidly withdrew my hand and dropped her shirt.

Despite the fact that I was no longer holding on to her, she continued to face away from me and hang her head. We were both silent. No one really had much to say.

Slowly and without looking at me, Elle loped over to her bed and sat herself down carefully, her head still hanging. I followed her cautiously and took a seat a few feet away from her.

"What is that?" I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. I didn't dare look at her, I couldn't bring myself to.

The question itself was pointless. The answer, obvious. I knew exactly what _it_ was, and I knew exactly what _it_ was from.

She probably realized that too, because she didn't answer me.

"Elle..." I probed. "Elle, please." I lifted my head to stare at her, although her gaze was on the floor. "Please talk to me."

I heard a small sigh escape her lips.

"It's exactly what it looks like."

Of course, a snide comment. Elle, now really isn't the time.

"No, I see that. But you need to talk to me, this is serious." My words dripped with as much compassion as I could muster.

"What do you want to know?"

Her words took me by surprise. Well that was easier than I expected.

"I, uhhh..." My voice trailed off as I tried to think of something to ask.

"It's just something that happens."

Oh, God. I think my heart just melted.

"Who—who did this to you?" I stammered.

Again, she didn't respond. She just switched her stare from the floor to the ceiling.

"Elle, you can tell me. Please trust me." I reached out and cupped her chin in my hand and angled it so her face was level with mine.

I could practically see the wheels in her head turning as she thought about what I had said.

She gently pulled her face away from my hand.

"It doesn't matter." She took a deep breath. "Forget it, Santana. It's not a big deal."

"What? How can you say that?" My voice rose. She couldn't honestly believe that; this whole situation was appalling. Yet, somehow, she tries to brush it off like it's nothing. There's got to be something more going on here. She's protecting someone, that's the only reason to lie to me like that.

"Why does it matter to you?" There was pain in her voice, but it was mostly covered by a layer of acid.

"Would you stop being so damn, defensive?" I was nearly shouting now. "Look, Elle. I'm trying to help you! I could walk away from here and pretend I never saw anything," I paused to let the words sink in, "but that would mean that you would have to continue to go through _this _alone_. _And I just can't let that happen. I couldn't bring myself to do that. I'm trying to help, I really am. But if you don't let me help you, then this is just a waste of both of our time. And listen, it _is_ a big deal. Someone is hurting you—that's not right." I shook my head. "You're in pain...right?"

She ever so slightly nodded her head. The movement was so tiny I wasn't quite sure if I had actually seen it, but I continued anyway.

"Then let me help you. I'm not going to make you call the police, or seek professional help—that's your decision to make. Although, I would feel a hell of a lot better if you did call the police. But all I'm asking of you is that you sit down with me, here, right now, and talk to me. Just tell me what's going on. You can't blow this off like it's nothing, we both know it means way more than that. So please, just trust me and let me be there for you." I finished my monologue.

I saw her swallow. As I examined her, I noticed for the first time how small she really was. She was fairly short, maybe 5'2", but what made her so small was her size, not her height. She was thin, very thin—not unhealthy skinny, but certainly smaller that most. The way she sat there now, she looked so fragile. Like if I touched her in just the wrong way or place, she would break. How could anyone try or even—I gulped—_want_ to hurt this poor girl? What kind of sick bastard would do that?

"If I tell you, you promise you won't tell anyone?" Her words interrupted my thoughts.

"Of course not. That's your decision to make once you're ready."

She was quiet at first. Thinking, contemplating the idea of letting me in.

"You can trust me." I whispered.

She exhaled loudly and leaned over and buried her face in her hands.

"It's my dad." Her words were muffled, but could be heard quite clearly.

My eyes went wide and I felt my whole body ignite itself in fury. Everything was hot, like a fire was searing through every inch of my being—setting flame to and burning every muscle and organ in it's path until my entire body was a giant inferno.

My hands curled into fists and they shook at my sides. I had heard her correctly, but I wished I hadn't. This was impossible. How could someone do that to someone else—especially when that someone else was their _own daughter_? People are so fucking sick.

I was pretty sure my face was blank, but I was so angry that it felt like my cheeks were quivering in rage. And what was I supposed to say to that? What do you say to someone when they confess to you that their sole parental unit physically abuses them? Well, not much.

I hadn't said anything so Elle spoke again.

"It hurts...so badly." Her voice wavered on the last two words as she struggled to keep her composure. "I just don't know what to do. He's my dad! I can't just tell on him. I love him..." Her words faded away as she contemplated those last three words. Then, a lone tear fell from her glossy eyes and slowly slid down her cheek.

I really had no response. I was too taken aback and engulfed in anger that I did the only thing I could think of. I scooted myself over to sit within a foot of her small, fragile body, and carefully wrapped a dark arm around the shaking girl, being extra cautious of her back so as not to harm her even more than she already was. She accepted the reassuring gesture and leaned against my side.

"Please say something."

I looked down at the girl that was cradled under my arm and sighed. "I wish I knew what to say."

"I didn't expect you to."

I tried to think of something to say, anything to break the uncomfortable silence. "How long?" was all I could manage.

"I don't remember. A long time, now. That's why my mom left us. He used to hurt her too, and she couldn't take it anymore. I used to stay awake at night and hate my mom for not taking me with her. But one day I realized that her leaving me was, in a way, in my best interest. Even though they divorced, she got nothing from him. She was too afraid of him to ask for anything, not even partial custody of me. So when she left, she left with nothing—and she didn't want that for me. She knew that despite all this, I would live a better life here with him."

"Do you think you are?"

"I guess. Once you see past _this_, things aren't so bad. Of course I have other issues, but in the long run things are fine."

"I don't understand how you can be so optimistic."

"It takes a while of getting used to."

I didn't like thinking about that, so I asked the next question on my mind.

"How often?"

She sighed again. "It varies. On a bad week, a couple times. But if I'm lucky, maybe only once a week."

"What does he do?"

She was quiet.

"He doesn't...?" My voiced trailed off with the question.

"No, thankfully. It's never come quite that far."

I breathed a small sigh of relief. "What do you mean by 'quite that far'?"

"I'd rather not go into detail. But when he comes home, if he's angry or drunk or both, then he comes upstairs to find me. He takes all his anger out on me, like I'm a punching bag for all his problems. It makes me feel like shit. Like I'm worthless, like he doesn't love me. But he's my dad. He has to love me, right?"

I couldn't dare answer that question. I didn't want to hurt her anymore than she already was.

Elle realized that I wasn't going to answer and went on. "Sometimes, I can feel his hands on me, crushing against my skin, even when he's not around. Or I can feel him pressing his body against mine and whispering in my ear that he loves me. But then he yells at me, and I never know which one is the real him."

It was like she kept breaking my heart over and over again—first in to halves, then quarters, then eighths. When would it ever stop? It's just heart-wrenching problem after heart-wrenching problem. The poor girl.

Then, it was like something in my brain clicked. It made sense. It all did. I thought back to our conversation in the bathroom.

"So this is why you need an escape, huh?" I asked.

"What?"

"I asked why you thought you drank so often, and you said you need an escape. I asked what that was, but you didn't say. This is it, huh? You need an escape from all this; from all the pain and confusion."

She nodded. "That's why it all started. I wanted to get away from this. I was at a place where I didn't understand why this was happening to me. I didn't like feeling this way and I couldn't seem to get away from it. So I started drinking to distract myself. At first, it worked. I forgot my problems when I was intoxicated and for once I was happy. But then, as I kept drinking, it took more and more to make me forget. Until eventually, I developed a craving for it, beyond when I wanted to forget about everything. And it just got worse and worse until I started to think about it all the time. And here I am, all fucked up."

"I'm so sorry..." I managed.

"Don't be."

"Why not?"

"I don't deserve your pity."

"Don't blame yourself for this, if that's what you're doing."

"Why? I should have left a long time ago—just like my mom. Or I should have at least told somebody. But I'm too much of a pussy. I don't know what he would do if he found out I told someone. The idea of that is enough to force me to hide it."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, even though I blatantly disagreed with her self blame, but I didn't want to argue with her. Not now, not after all this. So I asked my next question.

"Is this why you weren't at school today?"

She nodded. "It happened last night, after you left. He was in a really bad mood—he usually is after a long week at work. When I woke up this morning, I was really sore and in a lot of pain. So I skipped."

"Is there anything I can do?" There really was nothing that I could think of. I wanted to help as much as possible, but I felt my options were limited here.

"No. You've already listened. That's about all there is. This won't get better and it won't go away."

"Don't say that."

She shrugged her shoulders and looked away from me.

"You're brave." I added.

There was a brief pause.

"If that's what you want to call it."

* * *

**A/N: **I'm back! I wanted to give this chapter a little more edge, so I switched it up and wrote in 1st person. Anyway, I wrote this chapter on the coast of Mexico so I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. A tropical vacation was the perfect break and really refreshed my brain. The next chapter will probably be a continuation of this scene because this one ended up being pretty long.

Here's a question for everyone. Would you like to see more written in 1st person?


	12. Chapter 12

**Warning: **Language  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee and all other copyrighted materials belong to their respective and rightful owners.

* * *

I wish Brittany was here. That's the only thing going through my mind as this girl is talking to me.

It's so hard to be strong, right now. I have to sit and put on the "big sister" act for Elle and that's just not something I'm comfortable with. I have to know what I'm talking about, I have to say the right things, and I have to be strong for her. But I can't. Not well, at least.

This is a horrible situation to be in—for both of us. Of course this all absolutely sucks for her, but for me too. I'm the one that's listening to her spill her deepest darkest secrets and I'm the one _trying_ to give advice. I don't really know what I'm talking about, though. None of this is familiar to me. Alcoholism and child abuse is pretty much a foreign concept. Which is why I _probably_ shouldn't even be saying anything.

I can barely handle this as it is. I'm going through enough of my own shit right now. This is the last thing I want on my plate—and let me tell you, it's a pretty small plate.

So when I say that I need Brittany, I'm being one hundred percent honest. She's my best friend, (besides Quinn, but that's different). She's my rock. All I want to do is run into her arms and snuggle my head into her beautiful blonde locks and hide. And I mean that in the least gay way possible. (Because we're just friends—right?)

Now's the time for a best friend. You know that feeling you get when you're feeling completely lost and overwhelmed and you don't know what to do anymore? Where you just want to be held by that one person who loves you unconditionally? And I don't mean your mom. I mean that person who will _always_ be there for you no matter what. The person who won't ever judge you and loves you despite all the dumb ass stuff you say or the weird shit you do. You know—a best friend.

My Brittany.

That's what I want right now. That's what I need. I need her to hold me in her arms and tell me everything's going to be okay, even if she doesn't know what's going on. Because that's familiar, and that's Brittany. And that's what I want.

I think I know now what Lady Antebellum meant when they said,

**"It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now,**

**Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now,**

**And I don't know how I can do without,**

**I just need you now."

* * *

**

**A/N: **Short, I know! I just got home from a Lady Gaga concert (WHICH WAS AMAZING), where loving people unconditionally is really stressed. So I was feeling inspired. I'm exhausted so this is all.


End file.
